The Self Made Man
by bloodsucking-llama
Summary: It’s 1895, and in the Victorian society Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde existed in, Harry works hard to rise in society. When Draco ruins Harry's status, a battle of societies begins. HPDM slash, AU. COMPLETE.
1. The Ball

**The Self-Made Man**

Summary: It's 1895, and in the Victorian society Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde existed in, you never know who to trust. Harry/Draco slash, AU. D

**Chapter One: The Ball **

"What do you mean, 'I don't want to go'? You _have_ to go!"

"Oh, Hermione, don't force him if he doesn't want to."

"But he does want to!"

"I remember saying otherwise," Harry Potter interrupted, rather testily.

Hermione Granger sighed with a slight frown, but it wasn't a sigh of resignation. She clasped her hands together in her lap, over her pale lavender dress, before standing and pacing around the room, seemingly serenely. Ginny Weasley was sitting on a sofa with cushions of an elaborate floral design. She had been reading one of Jane Austen's novels, though – at Harry and Hermione's conversation – she began to peer over the top of the pages. Ron Weasley was casually reclining on the same sofa as Ginny; he too watched his friends, glad for something to distract him from the utter boredom that had been plaguing him.

Hermione strolled past the pair on the sofa as she walked towards the piano. It was rare for women to be as highly skilled in the art of music as Hermione Granger was, and the piano was one of her most prized possessions. She smoothed her hand on top of the black, shiny instrument, as though to check for dust, before glancing around her sitting room.

The high-class sitting room also belonged to Hermione, as did the rest of Granger Mansion, for she had inherited it from her wealthy parents. The room was anything but modest. The pink wallpaper had been carefully selected, as was the golden chandelier that hung from the roof. It was delicately furnished with soft sofas and two tables – one of them being near her book shelf filled with large volumes, the other being occupied with a frozen game of chess. Next to the latter of the two tables sat a stiff Harry Potter.

He, Ginny, and Ron often came to visit Hermione, even though the mansion was placed well out in the countryside and all three of them lived in the city. Ron and Ginny lived in a grungy flat near London; from their clothes, grimy and almost moth-eaten, anyone could tell that they weren't of a very high social status.

The Weasley family, in fact, was a traditional middle-class family. Despite this, they were well-known among all classes, for they were rather friendly and generous. Each of the brothers was noteworthy, and easily remembered by whomever crossed their paths. For example, the twins were famed for their antics, hilarity, and charms with the women. Percy was well-known for his astute business-oriented mind and, had he enough money to attend Oxford, many thought that he could be a brilliant worker for the government. Ginny, too – despite being only nineteen years old – had caught the attention of others with her beauty alone, never mind her cunning intellect. However, the family was never able to rise to a higher status because of their uncanny ability to have – as many snotty, elderly ladies would whisper amongst themselves – far too many children.

On the other hand, the Potter family had, in the past, been a very wealthy family – wealthier than the Granger family, even – but, after the deaths of Lily and James Potter, everything that belonged to them was taken to pay for debts that the family owed. Little Harry Potter, tragically, was sent to live with nasty cousins whose lack of manners made them rather infamous. No one expected much of the boy, and he was quickly forgotten in the ring of social life.

However, after having heard very many noble tales of his parents from strangers and how they lost everything – even status – because of an insane murderer, Harry Potter, from a very young age, decided that he would restore everything. He would buy back the Potter mansion, ancient artifacts that were once the Potters' prized possessions, and show his chivalry towards those who cared and mattered. He decided that he would climb the social ladder until, finally, the Potter name was successfully returned.

To say that he had been successful would be an understatement. At the fresh age of twenty-one, Harry Potter had managed to earn the title of the Self-Made Man. His mansion, in Surrey, was restored to the Potter name, as were many of the lost artifacts. Having already found a job in Surrey, as well as a few new friends, he decided that he would leave London and move into the mansion within a year.

All that was left to do now, certainly, was for Harry to earn the status that his parents once had. With the title of the Self-Made Man, he had earned the respect of many; there was no doubt about that. However, before now, Harry had only been invited to one formal ball. At this ball, Harry easily became disgusted with the people there. They two-facedly, snidely regarded him; whispered behind their hands about him. Hadn't it been for Neville Longbottom, who was also attending the party, Harry wasn't sure if he could survive with the snobbish, high-class people he met there.

That's why, understandably, he wasn't too eager to attend the latest ball he'd been invited to.

The silence, apparently, became too much for Hermione, for – after pressing the highest key of her piano casually – she said, "Too bad, Harry. This ball is the one ball everyone is so looking forward to."

"Then why aren't you going?" he asked, exasperated.

"Because I happen to not care about what others think of me," she said with a soft smile.

"I don't either, Hermione, you know that."

"But you, unlike me, _have_ to care."

"I don't want to."

"Harry, you've worked so hard over the years that I've known you – too hard to merely stop now," she insisted. "It's a high honor for you to have been invited. For you to not accept will insult the Zabini family – "

When it became apparent that Harry had stubbornly decided that he would not be persuaded, Hermione stopped herself from sighing in annoyance and turned an almost desperate eye to Ron and Ginny for help. Ron pointedly glanced away, preferring to take a sip of tea. Ginny, on the other hand, leaned forward with a smile.

"Harry," Ginny said, placing her book face down, "A friend or two are bound to be there! Like – maybe Neville, perhaps. You like him, don't you?"

"I – suppose."

"And there's a fair chance that Cedric Diggory and Justin Finch-Fletchley will be there, too. They're also very nice."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Yes, well…"

He sighed and took his gaze away from his friends. It was times like those that he truly was envious of them. After all, they were of the middle-class and didn't have to care about formal balls or socializing with people they loathed. They were relatively well-off and happy with their positions in life. Hermione didn't have to worry about socializing with people she disliked either for, though of a traditional and wealthy family, she had outcast herself. She was an outspoken young lady, self-educated and rather opinionated – _too_ opinionated, in the judgment of others. She wrote articles daily and sent them to newspapers, advocating for things and people, such as prostitutes, who – according to her – were merely victims of the vicious British economy. Ron and Ginny, though they didn't live as high-classed as Hermione or Harry, could spend their days going to pubs, and drunken dances – the types of places Harry would love to go to, rather than the boring balls. They were all self-assured, while Harry felt as though he were dragging along pathetically in low self-esteem; and he felt even worst that he had to care about what others thought of him when it went against his very nature to do so. Yet at the same time, he felt as though he wouldn't be doing his parents' memory justice if he allowed the family name to remain soiled.

"Harry, I'm sure it'll be fine," Hermione said soothingly with a smile. "After all, many have been invited to this ball. The room will be absolutely crowded. You can easily avoid those you dislike in the sea of faces." When she saw that he was beginning to allow himself to be persuaded, she eagerly pressed on by adding, "And, while you're steering clear of them, you'll have the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends."

Of course, making new friends was the highest objective. More friends meant more allies, more balls he would be invited to, and more chances to restore his family's status by being as chivalrous as possible.

Harry sighed and stood up off of the chair, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "All right, then. All right," he nodded, and couldn't help but smile back at Hermione, who had unleashed a radiant grin. "It'll be boring if none of you are there, but I'll go."

Ginny put down _Pride and Prejudice_ with a gracious smile. "You'll have to wear your best suit."

"That means I'll have to go all the way back to London," Harry frowned.

"I'll go and see what is in my father's wardrobe," Hermione happily offered.

As she left the sitting room, Ginny smiled and tapped Harry's leg. "Hermione's right, you know. This will be a great opportunity to meet new people."

Harry nodded.

"Hopefully they won't be too dreadful," Ron mumbled behind his tea cup.

Hermione had picked out a wonderful suit; even Harry couldn't help but agree with that fact. It was black, soft and comfortable, and refined for wealthy taste. Ginny helped to take in the waist and Ron grudgingly agreed to help polish his shoes. Harry needed all the help he could get; he had to hurry, for the Zabini Manor was several miles away, and it would take several hours to arrive there by carriage.

"Remember, Harry, very many people are curious about who you are, the Self-Made Man. If anyone of higher status introduces themselves to you, graciously reply."

"I understand, Hermione," Harry said gruffly.

"And for the love of God, remember your basic manners," she chided as she stopped inspecting the work of her friends and moved forward to attempt to get his hair under control. She sleeked it with oil, but it rebelliously stuck straight back up. Giving up, she helped Ginny with the pins.

Finally, Hermione called on the driver from the servant quarters. She and Ginny hugged Harry for good luck, and Ron shook his hand with a lopsided grin.

The night's ride started out casually boring, with only the landscape of the countryside to peer at. As time went on, he began to feel more and more nervous. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing as thoughts raced through his head: could he honestly hold his own? What if Millicent Bulstrode was there again? The lady – if he could call her a lady – had practically led the attack against him at his first ball, which had helped to make him conclude that it would also be his last.

But Hermione had a point, he decided. Ever since he was nine years old, he decided that he wanted to embark on an adventure different from the ones boys his age wanted. They wanted to play pirates in the mud puddles and chase after the daughters of prostitutes. He decided that he wanted an education and that, despite what others thought of him, he would rise in status to return his family's honor.

Overcoming the horrid people at the ball was just one of the hardships, really. One more hardship on top of hundreds he'd already fought and won against.

When he arrived at the gardens that led the entrance to the mansion, he could tell that many others were already there. This was obvious from the lines of carriages that waited outside, beside the long stone staircase, which led up to the large, gothic manor. The doors stood, wide open, and a servant waited at the entrance to greet guests. The outside looked nothing like Hermione's mansion. This mansion was darker, almost depressing.

He interrupted his musings abruptly. It was clear that he was already rather late, and thinking about the appearance of the building wasn't helping him to arrive any earlier. Because he was so late, he decided that he would slip in as quietly as possible so as to not make a scene.

He generously thanked the driver, asking him to wait, and the older man left the carriage to join the group of drivers standing near the corner of the stairs.

Harry felt his heart nervously hammering against his chest. As he walked up each stair, he took in a shaky breath and calmly let it out. It would be all right, he thought to himself. There was no reason to be so nervous; he always overcame hardships before, and tonight would be no different.

He smiled at the servant, a young girl who blushed and curtsied. "Welcome, sir."

He nodded to her and stepped inside. The heels of his shoes clipped against the white tiles of the dark entrance hall, attracting the attention of some of the men and women who stood near by, laughing and holding glasses between their hands gracefully. None of them were familiar to Harry and, obviously, he wasn't familiar to any of them, for many quieted as they watched him pass. Harry distinctly heard a woman, who was a horrible whisperer, ask, "Who is he?"

Harry didn't have to wonder which door or hall led to the ballroom, for it was too obvious, from the amount of cheerful laughter and music coming from the room. Wide doors were sprawled open, and the bright light of the room was welcoming from the shadowy corridor, lit by only a few candles.

The ballroom was magnificent. There were two staircases that led up to the orchestra, which was displayed above. The floor had a wonderful tiled pattern, and was cleared for the dance. Ladies and gentlemen smiled and laughed as they performed the moves stylishly, clapping their hands once, turning on their heel to face a new partner, clapping their hands twice, and repeating the step. Crowds were also found off to the sides, at small, circular tables that had been set up. At one of the tables Harry stood near, a rather large and obnoxious man was loudly telling a story that had the others rolling in peals of laughter. One man even had tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he gripped his side.

Upon entering, Harry was unsure about what his next move was to be. If he had seen Neville, or any other familiar face, he would have immediately gone to them with a smile; however, all of the faces, charming though they seemed, were completely unrecognizable.

Instead, he opted to sit at a table and take in the breathtaking beauty of the ballroom. The golden light of candles and chandeliers, the loud and well-played music of the orchestra, and even the people were admirable. They seemed to be of the highest classes possible, even higher than that of the Granger family. Harry began to wonder why it was he'd even been invited, but his thoughts were interrupted.

"Why, Mr. Potter," a voice said to his side.

He looked up, rather surprised, and felt his surprise fall with sudden dismay. He quickly forced a smile and stood to bow his head slightly. "Millicent Bulstrode. You're well, I presume?"

Millicent was wearing a beautiful red gown, with a train that swept the floor for several feet. However, this was perhaps the only beautiful thing about her. Someone had attempted to plaster make-up onto her face, but this only slightly managed to neutralize her distinct ugliness.

Pansy Parkinson was standing beside her. At the last ball, she had helped Millicent make Harry feel completely unwelcome, and had snidely implied that he didn't deserve to be in balls of such high class. She, at least, was prettier than Millicent, and her blue dress was perhaps as regal as her friend's. She didn't bother to force a smile at Harry as he nodded his head politely.

"Why sit alone?" Millicent asked with a voice of kindness, though her eyes were full of taunting.

Harry shrugged with a small smile and lied, "I had a rather long journey. I was merely resting."

"Ah, but this isn't a time for rest! Come, you must at least meet Mr. Zabini. He told me that he'd heard of you, and wanted to see you."

He subdued an impatient sigh and nodded in agreement. He followed the pair through the crowds, forcing a smile as they constantly stopped, for Millicent and Pansy both knew very many people at the party. Each time they stopped, Harry was very quickly introduced to the greeters. Every time, their smiles suddenly froze and they found that they had to go elsewhere, to speak to someone they hadn't seen all night. Each time, Pansy and Millicent both smirked, as if they enjoyed nothing more than silently and subtly humiliating Harry. Harry began to feel that he should've fought harder against Hermione, or that he should've told the driver to take him to his flat in London instead. Perhaps he could even slip outside and ask the man to take him home early.

But he couldn't just leave. That would be highly rude, and – even if this was an embarrassing experience – he was, at least, getting to meet new people. That had to help in the long run _somehow_… right?

Finally, Millicent and Pansy led him into a private side room. In this room, two sofas surrounded a table, where glasses and a bowl of wine sat. On a sofa sat a handsome man with dark skin and cold eyes. When he saw Harry, he smirked and stood up.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," he took Harry hand and shook it briefly, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I learned so much of you from stories I've heard."

He smiled unsurely and sat down when Blaise Zabini asked him to. He was introduced to the others sitting on the sofas, who all turned out to be other men, all of whom had names that were familiar, for their families were known for wealth and status. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, for some reason, both looked as familiar as their names sounded, and he figured that they were at the last party with Pansy and Millicent. There was no question, however, in this being his first formal meeting with Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy.

Millicent and Pansy both sat on separate chairs, and a conversation began as Millicent spoke of Padma Patil's horrid dress, and asked Blaise how he could possibly have invited her.

"I'm not so surprised," Pansy said. "You've made it a habit, lately, of inviting the unworthy." Her glance clearly went to Harry, and no one in the room hid their smirks.

Harry had the strong desire to expose all of them for being the two-faced bigots that they were, but – at the last minute – he imagined Hermione's and his own disappointment in not being able to charm such important people. Instead, he pointedly held her gaze but said nothing.

"It's amazing to me, really," Draco Malfoy said with a hint of boredom, "that you women are so often obsessed with such trivial matters. The treaty ending the Sino-Japanese war was signed but two days ago, and you only care about a lady's dress."

"That's just a quality found in all women," Blaise declared after Vincent, Gregory, and Theodore's snickers subsided, and before Pansy or Millicent could audibly disagree about the matter being trivial. "There's nothing amazing about it. What do you think, Mr. Potter?" he suddenly turned to Harry.

This being completely unexpected, he almost jumped and glanced around at the faces, all peering at him; Pansy and Millicent exchanged smirks. "Well, I – I wouldn't say it's a quality of _all _women."

"No?" Blaise was surprised that someone of Harry's status dared to disagree with him at his own ball.

He shook his head. "For example, my female friend is one of the most intelligent people of the century. She constantly debates over political matters – and – and she writes articles – "

"Oh, really? This friend wouldn't happen to be Hermione Granger, would it?"

Sensing the tone of disgust, he boldly held Millicent's gaze levelly. "Yes, she is the friend I speak of."

"That's the opinionated lass, isn't it?" Theodore asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Pansy muttered. "I've never met such an intolerable woman in my life."

"She's intolerable to some only because she intimidates them," Harry said heatedly. "And she's opinionated because she doesn't want to waste the intelligence she's been graced with," he continued, suddenly not seeming to care that he was being regarded with angry shock. "Something not all were blessed with, I'm sorry to say."

He eyed both Pansy and Millicent; they, in turn, cracked a pair of graceful smiles, though they were very obviously forced. Vincent and Gregory exchanged frowns, and Theodore suddenly seemed rather nervous. Blaise began to chuckle, though his eyes were colder than ever.

"Mr. Potter, you're one of those who have been blessed, yes? I hear that you managed to self-educate yourself so persistently that you were able to enroll in the University of Cambridge."

Harry nodded, suddenly off-balanced. He hadn't known that his life-story had become public knowledge.

"Impressive, if I do say so myself. What did you do with this education?"

"I – studied technology," he said uncertainly. "With what everyone's calling the Industrial Revolution, you know – "

"Are you an inventor, Mr. Potter?"

"I've created a few things, yes. Studied different versions of engines and such. Art was always my real passion, however," he added after a pause.

"Oh, really?" Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "We have two men of intense creativity in the same room, then." At Harry's confused look, he said, "But surely you've heard of Mr. Malfoy's work."

"Er – no, I can't say that I have," he frowned as Pansy and Millicent exchanged satisfied smirks.

Draco Malfoy had hardly stirred. He seemed rather bored, if anything, and was sipping his wine impatiently. He didn't acknowledge that the others were speaking of him.

"They're wonderful novels. Really, you should read them sometime," Blaise insisted. "Mr. Malfoy studied literature for years. I dare say, he's met Rudyard Kipling on several different occasions."

Harry felt himself fill with awe. He'd read _The Jungle Book _several times, and it was one of his favorite novels.

"His latest novel is, at least, much better than _Jude the Obscene_," Pansy sneered. (1)

"He's also a much better writer than, say, Oscar Wilde," Millicent nodded with a sniff. "And with a much higher degree of morality, if I do say so myself."

Pansy shook her head. "How dreadfully scandalous and foolish," she remarked when Millicent mentioned Wilde. "16 year old boys! He should be killed for such actions!" (2)

At this, Draco stirred. "And yet his defense of pederastic friendships was highly moving."

"Did you think so?" Blaise asked. "He had a point, that I will admit; of David and Jonathon, for example." (3)

Perhaps sure that Harry, yet again, wouldn't know what they were discussing, Millicent asked, "What do you think, Mr. Potter?"

Harry cleared his throat unsurely as everyone turned their gazes to him. He remembered his discussion with Hermione on this very matter, and repeated what they both agreed on: "Anyone should have the freedom of living their private lives without having others pry – "

"He was raping little boys!" Pansy cried, fakeness immediately disappearing. "It's one thing for your _friend_ to advocate prostitutes, but for you to advocate rapists – "

"He didn't rape anyone," Harry frowned. "He had lovers and willing partners. The only reason he was ever convicted is because his lover's father was upset…"

"You speak of such scandalous matters so freely, Mr. Potter," Millicent observed with a small sneer.

By "scandalous matters", Harry could only assume that she meant sex; and, deciding not to point out that Pansy, only a moment ago, was shrieking about rape and sodomy, he said rather casually and with a small shrug, "I've found that most scandalous matters are perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of."

"Typical," Theodore muttered. "I think I'll go for some fresh air," he stood abruptly, frowning at Harry as he nodded to the others and bade them good night.

"You're very interesting, Mr. Potter," Blaise leaned forward slightly, indicating to the wine bowl. "Don't you want any?"

It would be rude to not accept, so he took a cup, poured himself some, and took a sip. It was nice – sweet. He placed the cup down.

"You have an interesting background too, I hear," he continued. "Your parents were murdered, yes?"

Harry nodded with a clenched jaw.

"And you were left to live with the Dursley family."

Pansy snorted. Everyone knew of the disgusting habits of the Dursley family.

"Self-education, acceptance into the University of Cambridge… Tell me, why have you worked so hard to become the Self-Made Man you are today?"

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. "Why shouldn't I want to?"

Pansy suddenly stood up and began to walk around the room, similarly to how Hermione was walking around her sitting-room earlier. However, while Hermione was serenely taking a walk simply for the pleasure of stretching her legs, Pansy moved as though to make Harry feel uncomfortable. She moved as though she were a vulture, her cold eyes fastened onto Harry as she stalked. She paused at Draco's head, slipping her fingers through his blonde hair casually; and finally she tore her eyes away from Harry's to glance down at the man. "Mr. Malfoy, wouldn't it be a wonderful idea to write a story based on Mr. Potter's adventures? His – _rise_ in society?"

"Splendid idea," Blaise confirmed. Vincent and Gregory looked at each other unsurely. Harry felt as uncertain as they looked. After all, these people were two-faced, and – under their false politeness – they hated him; why would they want to waste their time with him anymore than necessary, other than to learn more about him so that they could taunt and humiliate him?

However, he found himself agreeing, despite his feelings of unease. The others left so that Harry and Draco could have the interview in private.

1: "Jude the Obscene" was the nickname given to Thomas Hardy's _Jude the Obscure_ because of its frank treatment of sex.

2: Oscar Wilde was convicted of "gross indecency" in 1895.

3: David and Jonathon of the Bible were possibly lovers; whether their love was platonic or sexual is uncertain. Wilde used their relationship in a speech during his trial.

A/N: Well! That's the first chapter of The Self-Made Man. I enjoyed writing it, but I hope that it didn't turn out to be a boring history lesson for anyone. I would love to know what you think!


	2. The Interview

**Chapter Two: The Interview**

Draco Malfoy was a highly attractive man, Harry realized after the dim light of the room was focused on the other man's fair features. His blonde hair was unnaturally silver in the candle light. It was sleek and carefully oiled back. His pale face was graced by hints of blush on his cheeks. His eyes, the color of chipped ice, were intensely focused on Harry; and, though he could hold Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini's gazes unhesitatingly, Harry found himself looking away each time Draco's gaze challenged his. It was almost as though the other's gaze was too intense and overwhelmed Harry – if there was ever such a thing as an overwhelming stare.

Which was surprising, frankly. Harry hadn't paid much attention to the man with the others in the room, but from what he did notice of him, Harry assumed that he was merely a calm man, indifferent and bored towards his surroundings. Now, however, with the lack of distractions and only Draco sitting opposite him, Harry had the ability to look deeper. Underneath the shadow of calmness, Harry saw a bold, smoldering force, subtly arrogant and knowing of its greatness.

"I'm sorry about my friends," Draco finally said with a slight smirk, interrupting the silence that was beginning to smother Harry. "It seems they're determined to humiliate you."

Harry was so surprised that he had difficulty thinking of something to say. "It's… fine," he said; and he nodded, as if to reinforce this.

"Honestly," Draco took a casual sip of his wine, "you don't have to be so tense. Relax, Mr. Potter," he insisted. "I have really only agreed to do this for the entertainment of Bulstrode and Parkinson; it's not my intention to take your life story in jest."

He was interrupted by a frail servant who uncertainly stepped into the room, asking if there was anything they needed. Draco told the man to bring several roles of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Apparently, he wanted to take notes on Harry's life.

"Many have described you as the real David Copperfield (1)," Draco continued once the servant showed that he understood his instructions and left the two alone.

Harry was unsure about how he was to reply to this, so he merely stayed silent.

Draco smirked. "I'm not sure about this, however. After all, Copperfield was a hero who developed a disciplined heart. You, on the other hand," Draco eyed him, "seem rather – _wild_."

"Wild?" Harry repeated roughly.

Draco shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. "Yes, wild. Like an untamed horse," he commented thoughtfully. "Oh, but don't take offense," he said with a slight smile when he realized that comparing one to an animal may actually be considered insulting – as though he hadn't realized such a thing before that moment. "I find that this society contradicts itself on many different levels. While some would find such wild and rude behavior atrocious, women often swoon over such men when portrayed in novels as characters; and their hearts go out to the boys such as Oliver Twist, too. They'll become multiple copies of Rose Maylie without a second thought. (2) They'll adore you."

"May I ask you a question, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, of course."

"Can you tell me why Ms. Parkinson would ever suggest that a book be written on my life? Besides wanting me to be humiliated, of course."

At this, Draco didn't bother to cover his smirk. "Curiosity, I suppose."

"Curiosity?"

"Yes. Innocent curiosity. I must admit, I've fallen a victim to this myself."

"But – _why_? You yourself have acknowledged that your friends want nothing more than to humiliate me. They dislike me – with a passion. If they hate me so much, then why would they want to waste their time reading about my life? I don't understand."

"Perhaps you underestimate your own popularity, then, Mr. Potter. Stories and rumors of the Self-Made Man have been bombarding me for months, now, and many are curious to hear your real story – myself very much so included."

It was strange, there was no doubt about it, that Pansy Parkinson of all people had suggested that a book be written on his life, and that this perfect stranger, an alleged writer of notable fame, had actually agreed. However, no matter how odd it was, he didn't need Hermione to be there to tell him that this was the perfect opportunity. In the end, there could only be one ultimate result: his name would be on the lips of more people.

At that moment, the servant returned with the blank parchment, quill, and ink. He set it on the table in front of Draco and asked if anything else was required. Draco shook his head and, with a flick of his wrist, the servant was dismissed.

"I don't even know where to begin," Harry shifted under Draco's long, expectant gaze.

"Start with your parents," Draco said. "I've heard many versions of the truth when it comes to them."

Harry found himself bitter, which was to be expected, for it was his reaction every time the topic of his parents was brought up. "My parents were murdered," he replied, "by a man who they thought was a friend. This man, Peter Pettigrew, was caught and hanged before I got the chance to ask him why he took their lives; I was only a one-year-old baby at the time. Perhaps that's for the best, though," he added thoughtfully. "If I had a glimpse within a murderer's mind, then my own might have been clouded by thoughts of hatred and anger. I needed a clear, uncluttered mind, in order to focus on my goal."

Draco started to scratch away at the parchment; he didn't glance up as he prompted, "Your goal?"

"Yes. I decided from a young age that I would become a scientist, much like my father was; and I would work hard, so that I could eventually buy back the Potter mansion and many of our prized artifacts. Since everything was taken from my parents, I – well, wanted to restore their honor from a mere couple who was in debt. I wanted to restore the great Potter name."

"This was your motivation, then?" Draco's eyes glanced away from his paper judgingly. "To restore the 'great Potter name'?"

"One doesn't need to be of a higher class in order to care about his family name," Harry offered.

At this, Draco's lips automatically moved into his familiar smirk and his gaze returned downward, to the parchment, once again. "Tell me about your life with the Dursley family."

"It was fine," Harry said automatically.

"Surely not," Draco said skeptically. "They're infamous pigs, as I'm sure you know."

Harry didn't reply; instead, he seemed to suddenly find the intricate design on the wine bowl rather interesting.

"Go on, Mr. Potter," Draco insisted consolingly. "I can't very well leave out an entire piece of your life from my novel, can I? And besides – while you might find life with them highly embarrassing, I assure you, it'll show your superior bravery and endurance. Not many would be able to spend any amount of time near them, let alone live with them."

Harry had difficulty exhaling. "You're right, it is embarrassing," he admitted quietly.

"Like I said before, Mr. Potter," Draco's smile seemed to be so_ very_ genuine, "I will not take your life story in jest."

With that, Harry hesitantly continued on to tell of the emotional and physical abuse he endured while in the Dursley household. He confided that he was forced to be their slave for years, and was never truly accepted within their home. He was bullied by his cousin, uncle, and aunt daily – whether he had done something wrong or not. Embarrassed, Harry admitted that he was desperate for friends, and eventually came into the habit of watching the neighborhood children play in the streets. Eventually, one of them introduced himself – a boy with red hair named Ron Weasley (at this, Harry missed Draco's small, snide smile). As children, they played in the grimy streets of London. Harry also described his first, immature childhood crush on Ron Weasley's little sister.

"I always thought that I would marry her," he said reflectively. "But… for some reason, after I returned from my journeys, I couldn't help but look at her differently."

It was as if he had returned to an old street where he used to play as a child. Everything seemed smaller and much less significant. The walls of a grand fortress became the walls of an abandoned bakery. However, as a child, winning Ginny Weasley's heart was also a large motivation for Harry Potter; and he thought that the only way he could possibly impress her was to be one of the rich, high-classed people he, she, and her brother would gaze at in wonder – rich, high-classed people such as Draco Malfoy himself.

He explained how, as he got serious about achieving his goal, he stole old text books and studied math, English, the foreign languages, and science while his friends played and had fun in the streets. He even briefly mentioned how he once got caught stealing books from the library, and was only let go because he was barely ten at the time. (Though he definitely received a harsh beating from the Dursley's.)

Years of hard work was summarized within hours, and before long, he was describing how, after becoming absolutely fed up with the Dursley family, he'd run away at the age of 15 and traveled across the countryside of England. He didn't know what he was searching for, or what he would do, and for weeks he became a teenage beggar who hardly anyone took mercy on.

"I thought that I was going to die. I was starving to death – hadn't drunk clean water in days – and no one would help me. They only stared at me in disgust as they passed by." He thought he had known how the world worked, but it was only then that he learned just how hard and cold the world truly was.

And yet, even as Harry was dying, his pride remained alive and strong. He kept walking from one town to the next, searching for a new life; it was only during the cold, lonely nights that he wished he had listened to Ron and Ginny – wished he had accepted their offer and lived with them instead of running away. But no – he was too stubborn and prideful, too desperate to be independent. He was so sure that he would find a new life waiting for him outside of London; but during those times, he wasn't sure if he would even survive until the next morning.

Finally, one day, a man in a dusty, patched coat stopped him, asking him what his name was. After Harry cautiously answered, he pulled Harry into an almost suffocating, tight embrace. Harry, bewildered, listened to the man as he explained he had seen Harry hours ago, and followed him since, hesitant but fairly certain of who he was. After all, he looked exactly like James – except for his eyes, which very obviously belonged to his mother.

The man, whose name was Remus Lupin, immediately took Harry to his modest cabin miles away and in the distant countryside, near the woods. A tired-looking man named Sirius Black shared the cabin. When he learned who Harry was, he was shocked beyond belief. Both he and Remus had imagined Harry to be dead.

At the cabin of the two best friends, Harry was home. He felt as if he had woken up from a nightmare, only to find himself in the arms of a loving family. He was ashamed to discover that he rarely thought of Ron and Ginny. At night, he would have nightmares where they would stare at him accusingly. But they had to understand – he had never been so happy and so accepted in his life. Everyday was a new adventure as Sirius would take him hunting or to an equestrian meet; or Remus would take him into the nearest town, to explore the library or shops filled with inventions. They promised to take him to countries like France and Germany – places he'd only read about in text books. Ron and Ginny, surely, would understand why Harry, having found a new happiness, nearly forgot his old life in the streets of London. However, he didn't forget his goal – his dream. It was intensified with every moment he stayed with the two men, who constantly shared memories of his parents. They told him that his parents would be proud of him for coming so far, for surviving such hardships, and for having a dream as noble as restoring his family name.

To help him accomplish his dream, Remus had the idea of tutoring Harry in literature, world languages, and history while Sirius would tutor Harry in the sciences, arts, and math; both were absolutely amazed at Harry's sheer brilliance. They knew that he had taught himself from books he stole from the library, but they never imagined just how much he actually learned. By the end of the year, Harry – having proved his intelligence in the various subjects – was enrolled into the University of Cambridge by Remus, who used to teach British literature and French there before he retired. Sirius Black, though he lived in a timid cottage in the country sides of England, actually had a large inheritance from his family. He had been saving the money for a special occasion, and what could be more special than his Godson's education?

Harry still remembered his intense joy at being accepted. He was so happy and honored that there wasn't any room for fear or sadness at leaving the two men who helped to change his life. He traveled to Cambridge and moved into the dormitories with a sense of raw excitement. Even more exciting were the moments outside of class, when he met new and different people from different countries and cultures. For example, Cho Chang was half-Chinese, half-Japanese, and had traveled abroad on a ship to learn English. Viktor Krum was to spend a year before returning to Berlin; Fleur Delacour, also to spend a year, had come from Paris. He also met others from the United Kingdom, such as Cedric Diggory, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Seamus Finnigan.

He worked as a researching scientist's, Dr. Longbottom's, assistant; and from here, he met Dr. Longbottom's son, Neville Longbottom. To Harry, Neville seemed timid at first, but they eventually became great friends.

The university's library was where he met Hermione Granger. Viktor Krum had enthusiastically introduced Harry to her, and there seemed to be a romantic spark between the pair. However, at first, Harry couldn't say that he shared Viktor's liking for her. She had been bossy and cold towards him, and snidely commented that it was rare to find men who respected women and the fact that they could learn as easily as the opposite sex; (apparently, Viktor Krum was one of these rare men). But, after realizing that Harry was an outcast like her, and didn't think little of her for being female (it never occurred to him that women should be treated lesser than men, in fact), she became much more kind to him. She even taught Harry about the Potter mansion's worth and, because it had been ignored for almost two decades, he was able to bargain it for half of what was being proposed towards him by the time he was 21. Really, now he only had to concentrate on finding the lost artifacts.

At the age of 25, it was only the previous year that Harry graduated with honors from the University of Cambridge. He recently accepted a job in Surrey, near his mansion, where he merely had to research the workings of the engine. He was proud of the job, and it was sure to allow him to make enough money to find and buy back the lost artifacts, as well as maintain the mansion.

For the time being, however, he lived in a flat near the city of London, once again reunited with his friends. They had been surprised, to say the least, when they saw him on his doorstep with handsome clothes and a lopsided, sheepish grin on his face. Ron and Ginny were upset at him, at first, for not even bothering to write for all those years – they had thought he was dead, for the love of God! – but, nonetheless, they quickly reaccepted him, as if it was the most natural thing to do. And for months, they did nothing but talk and make up for the years of time they weren't able to spend together.

With a nostalgic feeling, Harry was able to conclude that his journeys rewarded him with education and a secure job; lifelong friends such as Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black; and a clear pathway towards his goal.

After about five hours, the fires of the candles were about to go out in the melted wax. Draco's silent, almost cold stare forced Harry to shift uncomfortably.

"You've had a hard yet triumphant life, then," Draco finally said, breaking the tense silence.

Harry nodded once, unsurely watching the other man. His expression was like stone: it was impossible to read and, having just spilled out his entire life story, Harry felt as though the blonde should say something more.

"What of your love life?" he suddenly asked.

"My – love life?"

"Yes. Whatever happened to your relationship with the Weasley girl?"

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, a horrible habit he had whenever he became uncomfortably nervous. "It never really started. She was just a childhood infatuation."

"And now? Oh, but you can't be telling me that you – the Self-Made Man – have no one significant in your life?"

"I've been too busy restoring everything – "

"A life too busy for love," Draco almost sneered. "That sounds quite lonely indeed."

Harry didn't comment.

"Are you lonely, Mr. Potter?"

He shook his head. "I have my friends."

"Yet none of them are significant."

Harry sighed impatiently. "I found that such friends aren't always necessary. In fact, it's probably better if I only depend on myself at the moment."

At this, it almost seemed as though Draco leaned forward on the sofa ever so slightly and gazed at Harry as though he was observing a specimen.

"Why must you stare like that?" Harry found himself asking.

A small smile flitted across Draco Malfoy's face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just that Mr. Zabini is right: you really are rather interesting."

Draco was different from the others – there was something about him that Harry couldn't understand. It forced him to open up to the man – forced him to tell his life story to a complete stranger. He was the only one who Harry felt like he could trust.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Harry nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"I want to apologize for my friends again," Draco unexpectedly said, holding Harry's surprised gaze levelly. "It seems, at times, that they have nothing better to do than create social wars with others. Perhaps they'll understand you better after I've completed your biography."

As they both stood and left the private room, Harry found himself wishing that he could become even closer to Draco Malfoy for, though he could be intimidating and confusing, he seemed friendly and interesting.

Most had already left the ball. There were only a few groups that stood at tables where high screeches of laughter echoed off of the walls. The orchestra was just finishing a composition by Edvard Grieg (3), but it didn't have as much energy as when Harry had just walked into the ballroom. At one of the nearby tables, Millicent stood with a smile. She approached the two men.

"Had a nice, long interview, I presume?" she asked with an obviously fake smile, eyeing the two of them. Draco and Harry both nodded.

"That's good. I suppose this is good night, then, Mr. Potter?" she nodded to him, turning back to the table.

Draco smoothly inclined his head to Harry and said, "I had a delightful time, Mr. Potter. You've inspired me, there's no doubt about that; and I'll work without stop until your biography is complete."

Those words rang in his head on the ride back to Hermione's mansion. (A journey back to London was far too long, and both he and the driver were too tired. He would politely ask Hermione if he could stay the night and, the next morning, he would return to his own home.) He longed for nothing more than to close his eyes and stop his rampant thoughts – yet he couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of his newest ally – and friend.

But, really… one would think that he would know better than to trust a man of the upper class, especially a friend to ladies like Milicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.

1: David Copperfield is the protagonist of the novel, _The Personal History, Adventures, Experience and Observation of David Copperfield the Younger of Blunderstone Rookery (which he never meant to be published on any account), _otherwise known as _David Copperfield_, written by Charles Dickens. The novel was of the genre bildungsroman, which holds the theme of a main character learning to "discipline his heart" with correct morals and standards.

2: Rose Maylie was a character in _Oliver Twist_, written by Charles Dickens. After a series of events, she becomes Oliver's nurse.

3: Edvard Grieg is a famous Norwegian composer and pianist.

AN:

Thank you: Faery Goddys, Spideria, Lith, Anashek, digitalMuse, Bibilein, PaddycakePadfoot, glassedvase, whateveryea, and BaroqueIsabella! Those were all very wonderful and inspiring reviews. :)

I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter, which focused more on developing Harry's character and explaining Harry's past. In the next chapter, the conflict – which I'm sure is slightly predictable – will appear. Until then…


	3. The Self Made Horse

**Chapter Three: The Self-Made Horse**

Harry should've known, he decided as he sat wearily at the table. He was only half-listening to his friends' furious yells. Most of his focus was on the book he held in his hands. The blue cover was smooth in his hands; it had the scent of newness to it; and the title, The Self-Made Horse, stood boldly above the author's name: Draco Malfoy. The first lines of the book, "This is the story of a lonely, wild horse who wanted nothing more than to climb up his farmer's ladder," still rang clear in his mind.

Half of him, the numb half that was desperate to be indifferent, was actually slightly amused. After all, Draco Malfoy was right – Harry hadn't known the level of his popularity, and how much controversy he had caused by becoming the Self-Made Man. After all, he had to be very well-known for people to automatically know who Draco referred to when he wrote his novel.

But, no matter how amused Harry was, there was also a side that was wounded and offended.

What hurt the most was that Harry actually trusted the man; actually fell for his trap like a bug flying straight into a spider's web. Draco Malfoy had spun a web, manipulated Harry into feeling welcomed, comfortable – accepted. Harry had fallen for everything and opened his life to the stranger innocently and naively. And yet, in his defense, there was no way he could've known the true extent of cruelty.

He remembered how he thought the novel could be a good thing, for either way, his name would be known to more people; and he was ashamed of himself for not being cautious. It was obvious that his name could be shed in a negative light, especially when left in the hands of a friend of Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.

And yet Draco Malfoy had never really lied to him. He said that he would write a book based on Harry's life, and he did. The horse even left the farm he lived on in search of enlightened ways – advice – on how to climb this ladder. What he never mentioned, however, was that he was going to make Harry into a satirical item, a sacrifice to Draco's conservative political beliefs.

The point of the book was basically to make one argument: no men should be allowed to rise in the social system. (This became too obvious when the book ended with the horse finally being able to climb the ladder but, before reaching the top, falling and breaking his neck.) The classes should be fixed, and Self-Made Men should not be admired because, underneath everything, they were still of the lower class.

"Ridiculous," Ginny shook her head. "Utterly ridiculous. It's the argument of people from self-righteous classes who are too afraid of true rivals – for, of course, people like you, Harry, have actually worked for your positions, and pose a threat to them. They're afraid of true adversaries."

"They're a bunch of cowards, is all – not noblemen," Ron scowled. "They could look anyone in the eye and feel they have the right to ignore their qualifications based on their _lineage. _How is that noble?"

"Some of the greatest men in history began their lives as peasants," Hermione said angrily. "King Arthur, Abraham Lincoln, Confucius! But, of course, no one will admit that – none of them will. They choose to ignore what they find inconvenient."

Sadly, their opinions didn't matter. No one would listen to two people of the middle class and an outcast.

Because Draco was such an influential writer and highly respected in the social world, he made the situation rather difficult for both Harry and his friends. Just the other day, Ginny had been buying a loaf of bread in the market, only to have an older lady of a higher class loudly comment to her friend that she'd seen Ginny with "the horse" several times. Ginny got so angry that she began screaming at them, calling them idiots for not realizing that they were all a victim to Draco Malfoy's unjust prejudice. By suggesting that Harry was still a peasant, Draco was suggesting that no one could better themselves, or achieve any higher goals. Well, the older women had been so shocked that they couldn't think of anything to say.

There were others who Ginny would've loved to yell at. Even Harry's acquaintances had pushed him away. Harry had just received news two days ago that the engine company in Surrey wanted to take away their job offer. When he saw the familiar messenger at his, he never expected the words that came out of the messenger's mouth.

"It wasn't anything personal, I'm sure," the messenger said as he left Harry's home. "It's just – well, you know, with Draco Malfoy's new book out and everything… "

Harry's social life, which he had struggled to build, had suddenly crumbled. Shocked and exhausted, he sat, examining the ruins at his feet… and, frankly, he wasn't so sure if he wanted to stand up again.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Now he was in a position very similar to Hermione's. He had enough money to be considered of the high class, yet he was an outcast. Now, he didn't have to give a damn about what people thought anymore, and he could relax. He wouldn't have to go to boring balls anymore – he could go to the drunken dances with his friends. Maybe his father and his mother would forgive him for stopping short of his plans. Surely they would understand.

"This isn't the end," Hermione was saying fiercely.

"Damn right, it's not! That bastard should be _murdered!_"

"What can we possibly do? Everyone thinks that the Harry in this – this _monstrosity _is the _real_ Harry. And even if they don't, they now feel obliged to disrespect him because of what Draco Malfoy wrote."

"We have to show everyone that this book was a lie."

"How're we supposed to do that, huh?" Ron asked Hermione. "That's damned impossible. No one is going to believe a couple of peasants and an outcast."

Suddenly, there was silence. However, Harry didn't glance up to see why they had stopped talking, nor did he notice the looks that were directed his way.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, resting a hand on his shoulder gently. He snapped out of thought, looking around at everyone.

"Are you all right?" Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. "Of course." He then stood, placing the book on the surface of the table he sat at. "In fact, I've never been better." To prove this, he unleashed a radiant grin, but this wasn't enough to convince the others. "Honestly," he insisted when he saw the skeptical looks. "This means that I don't have to care anymore."

"Of course you have to care, Harry!" Hermione frowned.

"Why?"

"Do you honestly want the Potter name to drag along in the dirt?"

"No, but there's nothing I can bloody well do about it now."

"Of course there is," Hermione said quietly. "We just have to figure out a way…"

"Why don't we just write another novel?" Ginny suggested. "Titled The Self-Made Man. People will be curious about it, if only because Draco Malfoy recently released his book."

"That's a fine idea – really, Ginny," Ron said sarcastically, "but there's only _one_ problem: none of us know how to write."

"What are you talking about? Hermione is a brilliant writer!"

"Yes, but for controversial issues like prostitution and government scandals. If she writes about Harry, people will automatically assume that he, too, is a controversial issue and that might – well, know you – decrease his status all the more. No offense, Hermione," he turned to her.

"No, no," she sighed. "You're absolutely right. We'll just have to find other writers – "

"Will someone _listen_ to me?" Harry suddenly yelled, silencing the room. "I said that it's _fine_. It doesn't matter to me." He looked into all of their faces, desperate to prove that he wasn't lying, or forcing himself to be cheerful. "Honestly. It's a waste of time. I prefer to be an outcast," he added. "I prefer to – to not give a damn about what others think of me."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Hermione finally burst in frustration. "Harry, we all know that you have a noble, inner-strength. We know that you don't depend on the good opinions of others to survive. However – " she said quickly before Harry could interrupt her – "what you're not showing _any_ of is courage!"

"Courage!" he repeated, shocked.

"Yes, courage! You don't have any courage, else you would be willing to fight against this horrid man!"

"I have plenty of courage," Harry said stubbornly and testily. "I had the courage to deal with such men up until this point – "

"So why is it that you _now_ want to stop?"

"Because I'm tired, Hermione!" he yelled, exasperated. He clenched his jaw and sat back down in his chair, sliding down slightly. "I'm tired."

Hermione's expression turned from frustration to sympathy rather quickly, as Ron and Ginny's turned to concern.

"Then rest," Ginny said, decisively. "We probably all should."

Hermione nodded. "I'll have the guest rooms set up."

It only took a few moments for a servant to come in and announce that the guest rooms were ready. While Harry and Ron were walking towards their wing, Ron sighed and cleared his throat. "You know, mate, you shouldn't let Hermione bully you into doing anything you don't want to do."

Harry nodded silently.

"But at the same time," Ron mumbled, "well… You've worked so hard. I guess… giving up never really seemed like the type of thing you would do."

Those words followed Harry into his quarters, where they and Hermione's earlier statements hung heavy. He felt as though he was being flattened with the weight and the pressure, and the thought that – if he did give up – he really _wasn't_ being very courageous at all. He was backing down and letting Draco Malfoy win.

And, suddenly, it became all too apparent that this wasn't just a personal battle between two men – but a social battle, a battle of classes and nobility. When he saw it in that perspective, he felt petty for being so ready to give everything away.

As though he was having another, private interview with himself, he laid on his bed late into the night, thinking about his life as a child, his journeys – his accomplishments – and how much it all meant to him. How much it would mean to his parents.

The next day, he woke up late. He could tell because of the amount of sunshine that flowed in through his guest window and into the bedroom he had slept in. However, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were still eating breakfast when he arrived.

He sat down, pretending not to notice that everyone was watching him expectantly.

"Well, Harry?" Hermione finally asked, unable to stop herself. "Did you think of it any at all?"

Harry shrugged as he buttered his toast. "A little bit, I suppose."

"_And?_" Ginny asked, leaning forward slightly.

"And," Harry said, taking his time, "I wondered if Neville Longbottom would possibly know any writers."

They beamed at him.

After breakfast, they wrote a letter to Neville, explaining their situation and what they needed. Neville, though he may not have been the most popular man, had very many connections – and not because he lusted for a rise in power, but merely because he was such a good man; many people were attracted to his sensitive, gentle nature. Surely, a writer of talent would be one of them.

Harry left the Granger Mansion with the distinct feeling that everything might just work out after all. He didn't even mind when he received scandalous looks as he returned to his flat in London. He even went as far as to smile and tip his hat to a woman he distinctly overheard saying, "There, that's Harry Potter – the Self-Made Horse."

However, his mood dropped considerably when he found a letter waiting for him. As he read who it was from, he felt his gut clench and his eyes burn.

Draco Malfoy, really, had taken a great opportunity to sarcastically rub the books' popularity in Harry's face. He wrote with a supposedly excited tone, noting how he was happy that Harry's _real_ story had made it out to the world. It had definitely affected his social status; that was for sure. He continued on to write that he hoped with all his heart that he hadn't misunderstood any of Harry's reflections, and that the story didn't seem to be taken in jest at any time.

Harry re-read the letter several times. He could practically imagine the sneer sprawled across Draco Malfoy's face as he wrote the letter, his wrist flicking casually as the insults came naturally.

Finally, he tossed the letter into the fire; and it was as though the bright, hot fire that crackled was burning inside of Harry as well. Part of him wanted to destroy Draco Malfoy, as he had destroyed Harry. Part of him wanted to hurt him as badly as Draco Malfoy had hurt him.

He ignored these parts of him, however. Perhaps, one day – for revenge – he really would have enough power to get back at the man. But at that moment, he had to concentrate on actually raising his status to where it had once been.

He found himself eagerly awaiting Neville Longbottom's reply.

AN: Draco Malfoy is an asshole.

Hope you all enjoyed.


	4. The Writer

**Chapter Four: The Writer**

Harry re-read the letter Neville Longbottom had written to him in reply, clenching the paper in his hands. With a heavy sigh, he looked up at Neville, who sat across from him. They were both in the sitting room of the Granger Mansion. They were enveloped by a thoughtful silence. Harry's leg bounced tensely; Neville slipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and nervously patted his brow.

"I really am sorry," he insisted once he had the handkerchief folded and safely returned to his pocket. "The only talented writer I know of is Luna Lovegood, and she's currently traveling in India. Besides, I don't know if her writing style would fit your biography," he sighed and leaned over to pick up his cup of tea from the glass table before him. "She's rather… eccentric."

"But how could we possibly convince her?" Harry sighed with a slight frown as Neville sipped his tea. "It's not that I don't appreciate your idea, Neville… I just don't think she'll do it."

"You never know until you ask. She may be more than willing to write for you."

"But not under an alias," Harry glanced at him. "Hermione… she hates aliases. She thinks they're personal insults of self-esteem. Look at George Eliot (1), for example," Harry continued. "Hermione enjoys many of her works, but if you ever dare to bring up the subject, she won't stop going on about how the woman had no self-pride."

"Many could argue that she was just hiding her love life."

"Hermione would prefer to think that she was just hiding the fact that she was a woman," Harry sighed. "She'll never do this for me."

"Let's speak to her, first," Neville suggested confidently, though his posture showed that he, too, was beginning to question his proposal.

Hermione returned to the sitting room moments later. She had earlier left the pair to dress, for they had visited rather unexpectedly; before, she wasn't dressed appropriately to entertain the two. She sat down beside Harry amicably, and asked Neville how he was that day.

"Fine, thank you," he glanced at Harry almost unsurely, which certainly didn't raise Harry's confidence in the proposal. "I'm sure you're curious of the nature of my visit, Ms. Granger, so I'll just get straight to the point, if you don't mind: I was unable to find a writer."

"Oh, no," Hermione frowned. "Well, this certainly sets us back – '

"Maybe not," Neville smiled, once again pulling out his handkerchief and patting his brow. "I came here because – well, Harry was hoping that both of us could possibly convince you to write the novel yourself."

At this, Hermione turned her head to the side curiously. "You know that I would love to, but I believe it was Ron who made an excellent point – "

"Yes, he's right: the name Hermione Granger is almost a symbol for strong, independent women – something that most of the elitists in this society are afraid of. That's why we were hoping you would consider possibly – well, tweaking your name a bit."

Hermione silently gazed at Harry and Neville. "You mean," she paused, "using a stage name."

Harry swallowed with difficulty as he and Neville exchanged glances.

"I'm sure both of you know how I feel – " she stood, furious, from her seat. "I'm not like George Eliot. I know who I am, and will never pretend I am another person while expressing my abilities and talent."

"Hermione," Harry stood up as well, "_please_. I need this. I need _you_. I'm willing to fight against Draco Malfoy; now, I need you to be willing to help me."

"I have been helping you, Harry!"

It was too true. Harry looked at Neville expectantly, who said, "Please, Hermione – just this one last favor. Please."

Hermione stared from Neville to Harry, and into Harry's almost desperate eyes. However, she slowly shook her head. "I can't, Harry. I'm sorry."

With an impatient sigh, he sat back down on the sofa, clearly upset. "We truly are stuck, then."

Hermione watched her defeated friend with slight difficulty before she clenched her jaw, took a deep breath, and said cautiously, "I won't write this story under a different name. However, I – I suppose that I'm willing to help _you_ write it…"

"Me?" Harry looked up at her, incredulous and almost bemused. "Hermione, I studied technology, not writing – "

"That's why I'm willing to help you." Hermione looked as though she was already mentally planning her newest project.

"Brilliant," Neville nodded enthusiastically to reinforce his opinion. "That's an excellent idea. I think people would be all the more interested if it's written directly by you, Harry. With Hermione's help, you have the potential of writing one of the most influential novels of our time."

"If it's written correctly, it _will_ be one of the most influential novels of our time," Hermione nodded. "Well, Harry?"

He glanced between Hermione and Neville, suddenly wishing Ron was there to offer his opinion on the matter. He didn't want to make a mistake by putting himself into something he wasn't prepared to do. Nonetheless, with a deep breath, he nodded – though rather unsurely.

Neville wished them the best of luck and asked for updates on the novel as he left the Granger Mansion. Harry and Hermione were left together to plan. They stayed on the sofas nearly all day, only standing up a few times to receive paper to write down ideas and plans, and other times to stretch their legs.

Finally, after completing the outline, both of them eagerly stood from the sofa, satisfied with their plan, yet rather tired as well. Hours ago, Harry and Hermione had already decided for Harry to spend the night rather than take the few hours to return to London. As Hermione was guiding him down the hall towards the guest chambers, Harry asked, "How long will it take?"

Hermione bit the bottom of her lip. "A few months."

"A few months!" Harry echoed. "Draco Malfoy finished his within a month."

"Well, personally, I feel that the novel was rather cheap and poorly written," Hermione sighed. "If you ask me, the only reason the novel is so popular is because _he's_ so famous. It was a joke, if anything. It was rather surprising, actually," she noted. "His books are usually well-written, as much as it pains me to admit it. It's as if he was only interested in forcing his opinion in that particular novel, which is something remarkably easy to do. Of course it only took him a few mere weeks. And besides, Harry, novels usually take years to write," Hermione said cautiously.

"But by the time we've finished, no one will be excited."

"The novel will become popular because of its literary merit, not because of the aftermath of Draco Malfoy's novel. You have to trust me, Harry," Hermione said gently.

"So what am I going to do until then?" Harry frowned. "Live in exile and write my auto-biography?"

"No," Hermione answered, determined. "You should be going out more now, twice as much as you were before, and show those snobs that you're not going to – "

Harry frowned in exasperation. "Hermione, I refuse to make myself a complete victim to society's scorn."

"Harry, you can_not_ let Draco Malfoy influence your life so strongly. He took away your status – even your job – but that doesn't mean you should hide away, as though ashamed of yourself."

Harry was usually stubborn over such issues, but this time, he realized fairly quickly that she was right.

"There's an annual picnic," Hermione said, "that is open to people of all classes. There's no need to be invited; yet everyone of even minimal importance is expected to attend. You ought to go. People of all classes will be there; from homeless men and women to barons and baronesses."

Harry's eyebrows raised in interest despite himself.

"I can never really bother to attend, of course," Hermione began, but then – hesitantly – she added, "However… If you feel like you would want me there for moral support, I would be glad to attend with you."

Harry stopped walking and stared at her, shocked. Hermione practically shifted nervously under his stare. "It's not that amazing, is it?"

"Yes, it truly is," Harry blurted without even pausing. "I mean to say… Hermione, you haven't attended a social function in _years_!"

"They're detestable excuses for pompous men and women to come together and secretly insult each other," Hermione said with a sarcastic smile. "However… Harry, you're my friend. This is your first appearance in public since Draco Malfoy's book has been released. I want to help however I can. If being at the," and she made a very odd, disdainful face, "_annual picnic_ with you means this…"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I don't want to inconvenience you, but…"

She couldn't help but warm slightly. "I'll be there."

Harry had a restless night as he thought about the production of the soon-to-be written novel. The next morning, he sleepily returned to his flat after thanking Hermione relentlessly. They decided that, after the picnic, Harry would move into Hermione's manor for a few months, allowing them to concentrate on writing the novel. It would be a big change for Harry, but Hermione convinced him that it was necessary. Seeing that the picnic was in a week, Harry would have little time to properly move into Hermione's mansion, but both figured that he could merely take his bare essentials and, if he found that he required anything else, he could return to London to receive it and bring it back to the countryside.

Over the course of the week, Harry found himself questioning everything – from writing the novel to appearing in public after Draco Malfoy's novel. Was he really strong enough to do this? Was he really confident enough to write a novel that would upset the social world of England? Could he honestly attend the annual picnic, where he was sure to be surrounded and trapped by social enemies, even if Hermione was to be there? He wondered, but avoided thinking of the answer – for, whether it was yes or no, he would have to go through with it all anyway.

The gardens at the annual picnic were brilliantly colored with flowers of all shapes and sizes. The sky was a pale blue, with only a few scattered clouds. The sun was out, high in the sky, beating down on the people far below. The ladies wealthy enough to afford one covered themselves with frilly umbrellas; many others hid under the shade of large trees.

There wasn't actually much food at this annual picnic; however, there were many activities to be seen. A puppet show had been set up, instantly stealing the imaginations of the children; a group of men held a fishing contest, although whether the lake actually held fish was somewhat uncertain. People painted, or read from books aloud. A man was even telling the original Old English version of _Beowulf_, and had attracted a large group of listeners.The lawn was open for many blankets to be spread out, where families met friends, and loners read their novels in peace. It was interesting, seeing silk sheets beside quilted patches. It was the one time in the year where everyone could come together in the countryside, no matter who they were or of what class they came from.

"It's disgusting," Harry overheard an older lady of the upper class whisper from beneath the shade of her large umbrella. "If this event wasn't so cherished, I would never have bothered to come. There are just too many barbarians of the lower classes!"

It was as Harry walked past the elderly lady that he heard her suddenly become silenced, only to whisper to her friend behind her wrinkled hand.

It wasn't the first time Harry had witnessed people whispering about him. Sometimes, he even distinctly heard the word "horse." He felt himself go red with embarrassment and anger, but he knew that causing a scene wouldn't help matters any at all. Instead, he concentrated on attempting to find Hermione. She had claimed she would be wearing a light, flowing, lavender dress, and would most likely be found near the shore of the lake; however, thus far, she was nowhere to be seen.

However, he did recognize a few familiar faces – and two were faces he hadn't seen in _years_, and hadn't ever expected to see again. Ernie Macmillan was eagerly speaking to an old friend, Cedric Diggory. For a moment, Harry forgot his predicament and his mission in finding Hermione as he edged forward hesitantly, almost shyly. It took only a few moments before the pair saw him. Ernie exclaimed in surprise, "Mr. Potter, my good fellow! Just the man we were looking for! We were hoping we would meet you here."

Ernie shook Harry's hand boisterously. Cedric smiled charmingly as he took Harry's hand as well. Harry was surprised at the genuine warmth of their welcome. "I – don't believe it," he said, sincerely shocked.

"We figured we ought to offer our support to an old friend," Ernie said with a firm nod.

"Where's Ms. Granger?" Cedric peered around, interrupting Harry before he could ask any of the questions he suddenly wanted to ask. Harry noticed that he was receiving more stares from the people surrounding him, as was Cedric and Ernie for even daring to be seen speaking with him.

"I'm not sure," Harry said, also staring around for Hermione. "We were supposed to meet by the lake, but – "

"Ah, there she is," Ernie gestured to a person behind Harry. He turned to see her strolling towards them with a grin in the very flowing, lavender dress she had promised to be wearing.

"Mr. Diggory, Mr. Macmillan – what a pleasant surprise," she beamed as she took their hands politely and in a gentle, lady-like fashion. "What brings you to the countryside? The last I heard, both of you were in the northern regions."

Cedric nodded. "We decided to come to support Mr. Potter."

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed.

"Mr. Finnigan, too, claimed that he will soon be joining us as soon as he's settled business in his home. Dr. Finch-Fletchley, however…"

"Travels in Russia as we speak," Ernie smirked.

"Not as large as a defensive party as we would've liked, but," Cedric grinned at Harry sheepishly, "it ought to do for now, don't you think?"

"Against Mr. Malfoy, we can use any help offered," Hermione nodded earnestly.

"Nasty stories going on about you, eh?" Cedric said to Harry, suddenly very solemn. "After we read the book, we decided that we just had to come out here. Mr. – Longbottom, was it?" he turned to Ernie.

"Yes," Ernie nodded.

"Mr. Longbottom said that you might be here today, so we came rather hopefully."

"Malfoy is detested at the University now," Ernie smirked. "The Self-Made Horse is practically banned."

"Nasty story," Cedric repeated as he shook his head, disgusted. "Absolutely ghastly."

Harry nodded. "Ghastly story created by a ghastly person, apparently."

"Speaking of which," Ernie hissed as he glared at a group of people standing near by. Harry followed his gaze and felt himself harden as he recognized Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and the two bulking figures of Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

Draco was dressed rather casually in comparison to how he usually dressed. The sun shined in his blonde hair, making a golden halo; however, Harry knew that Draco was more like a demon than an angel. A sneer was sprawled across his chiseled face. The stare that he had earlier felt was overwhelming was now also irritatingly mocking. Harry tore his gaze away.

"If only this weren't an event open to everyone. If this were my gathering, then they wouldn't be here – I can assure you," Cedric said with a sigh.

"Yes, well, it wouldn't matter either way. They've influenced everyone's opinion enough; they don't need to be here in order for others to feel that I'm a horse."

"I'm surprised that Mr. Longbottom even said you might be here, frankly," Ernie said gruffly. "Usually, it takes at least a month for people to recover from social blows."

"If Mr. Potter is still the same man from the University," Cedric said with a charming smile, "then I don't think he really considered what happened a 'social blow.' More like an immature move, on Mr. Malfoy's part."

"Oh, I can't believe this," Ernie said angrily. "Who does he honestly think he is?"

Harry turned to see Draco sauntering over. Harry forced himself to hold his gaze levelly until he reached the group of men.

"Mr. Macmillan," Draco nodded at Ernie, "Mr. Diggory," he looked at the older man and, with a rapacious smile, "Mr. Potter."

"Mr. Malfoy," the men nodded politely in return, though Harry's was slightly more impatient than the rest. After all, he had just met two friends he hadn't seen in years – only to be interrupted by a man he rather detested. He supposed that there would be plenty of time for catching up after whatever confrontation Draco had in mind; nevertheless, he was eager to ask his old friends questions, such as how they were, what they had been doing as of late, etc.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, how are you?"

"Quite fine, thank you."

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Of course," Harry said shortly.

"Really?" Draco feigned interest. "I had heard a rumor that you might be rather… _depressed_ lately."

Harry felt his eyes narrowing and, before he realized the words were coming out of his mouth, he asked quietly, "Why are you even here, Mr. Malfoy? So many people of the lower classes… I didn't think you would want to come."

"I've attended out of tradition – something you, perhaps, might not fully understand."

Draco's eyes were suddenly a lot colder than he remembered.

"I noticed after I published my novel, Mr. Potter, that there's another wonderful comparison for you that I should have added. You see, as I was reading through my collection of Shakespeare's works, I noticed that you and Envy share two qualities: those horrible, green eyes, and a want for something you simply can't have and don't deserve." (2)

Chuckles spread through a small crowd that had managed to gather without Harry even noticing. Most were nosy, elderly women of the upper classes who were rather similar to the one Harry had earlier encountered. As he saw the snide, prudish looks they sent at him, he felt anger burn inside of him. He felt as though his thoughts had frozen. His stomach smoldered with resentment, distracting him from thinking of an appropriate reply.

It was then that Hermione stirred from beside him and stepped forward, as though she could sense that he had frozen.

"Mr. Malfoy, certainly even you could see the difference between Harry Potter and Envy," she smiled politely. "You see, while Envy was merely jealous, Mr. Potter is willing to work hard for what he wants. If anything, I think I see more of a likeness between _you_ and Envy, Mr. Malfoy; after all, physical resemblance isn't all that matters, especially when personality traits are overwhelmingly similar."

"Hermione Granger," Millicent said snidely before Draco had a chance to reply. "I don't believe it. Come out of your lair, have you?"

"Politeness, Ms. Bulstrode," Hermione smirked slightly. "It would be good of you to remember that you're still in public."

"And it would be good of you to remember that society has no place for women such as yourself," Pansy stepped in coldly.

Harry could sense that Hermione had stiffened with irritation, but her voice continued in its same calm, polite tone. "I think you've been conditioned to fear women like me, Ms. Parkinson, by men who merely want to stifle competition. After all, I'm unafraid to think for myself and don't believe in wasting my intelligence. I suppose they feel I'm a threat. I believe it's the same men," she continued, "who fear strong men such as Mr. Potter, as well.

"You claim that women like me and men like Mr. Potter are a danger to society because we promote independent thought and growth; but I ask you, how else is this society supposed develop? If we continue with our ancient ways, then we will _be_ ancient – even with the Industrial Revolution at our doorstep. We will fall behind other nations, I believe, thanks to people such as yourself."

Draco's supporters in the crowd flushed furiously, and didn't hide their utter resent as they glared at Hermione. She truly was too opinionated, they had quietly decided. Draco, on the other hand, seemed interested and curious as he replied:

"You claim that men and women such as yourselves can help to develop society; however, I can't help but wonder if we should really risk trusting you. When it comes to the upper classes, it's guaranteed that we've been educated, and there's no question in our wisdom. When it comes to men and women like you, however, the fact that you're an outcast might be a sign that you're not fit for our society, and might end up ruining it rather than helping it to grow. And when it comes to men from the lower classes… well," he smirked.

"When it comes to men from the lower classes," Hermione stepped closer to Draco, clearly enraged, "they have the same abilities and should have the same opportunities as people from the higher classes. Refusing them is only a blatant sign of your fear and weakness. Mr. Potter proved that he has the same abilities, and took his opportunities," she suddenly turned away and faced the crowd. "You can read about this…"

Millicent sneered. "Yes. We've read about the horse – "

"I don't mean that children's book," Hermione snapped impatiently. "I'm talking about The Self-Made Man – Mr. Potter's own autobiography."

This effectively broke the silence in the crowd. Draco didn't hide his sneer. "Mr. Potter, _you_ are writing a novel?"

Harry hadn't expected Hermione to publicly release the information, and was still reeling from her announcement as he unsurely nodded his head. Draco seemed on the edge of rudely laughing, but he managed to merely raise an eyebrow and nod in return, as though to acknowledge the daring challenge.

"It'll be written within a few months," Hermione concluded over the sudden and excited whispers that surrounded her. "Please, look forward to it. People of the lower and higher classes should equally enjoy the novel; and who knows? It may even change a few minds as well," she said, turning her gaze back to Draco.

As Draco Malfoy and his group retreated, people began to unexpectedly come forward and grasp Harry's hand and shake it. Harry saw the look Hermione sent him, and knew to force down his shyness as he grinned at the people who introduced themselves to him. However, while he smiled, he knew that this was simply moving too quickly. Before he had come to the picnic, he never would have dreamed that, within a few moments, he would be gaining such a large support system. The calmness of Hermione had him wondering if she had planned all of this from the very beginning. Perhaps this was really why she wanted to come to the annual picnic. She had claimed it was to support Harry morally, but had never mentioned using it as an opportunity to sell him and his book. Nevertheless, while he found himself a little upset that she manipulated the situation, he also knew that what she was doing for the best of his reputation. It was just a little… unexpected, was all.

Most of those who introduced themselves were of the lower class, but some were also somehow rather familiar men and women of the upper classes.

"Colin Creevey," one of them said eagerly, shaking Harry's hand. "I'm an editor for Surrey's Weekly Reports. I heard that you have a job in Surrey. Well, _had_ one, until Mr. Malfoy's novel came out. (Absolutely hated it, by the way.) So, are you planning on living in Surrey as well?"

Harry nodded as he let go of Colin's hand. "In a few months, perhaps." In actuality, he hadn't thought about it as much as he knew he should've been.

"That's great – really exciting. I have the feeling that you'll be the talk of Surrey," he grinned. Suddenly, he leaned in slightly. "Listen… if you ever need any coverage – any spot in the news at all to promote your cause – I'm the man you want to talk to." He looked at Hermione and, with a nod, continued, "I completely advocate your and Ms. Granger's opinions on society. My grandfather was born in the slums of London," he added to Harry. "He's why I'm in the position I am in today. I can appreciate the diligence – while some, on the other hand," he shook his head with a hard glare, obviously thinking about Draco Malfoy. "I'm just happy that someone is strong enough to finally stand up to people like Mr. Malfoy."

Other men and women, while not as eager, also approached Harry and Hermione. Some were of the upper class, such as a plump and cherry Hannah Abbot, the famous sportsman, Oliver Wood, the beautiful Patil twins, and the scornful Zacharias Smith. Oliver congratulated Harry on fighting against a man like Mr. Malfoy; he himself personally detested the man for his sarcastic cruelty and snobbish views. The Patil twins similarly insisted that Harry had their utter support. Both Hannah and Zacharias expressed their appreciation to Harry, but also to Hermione. It was a well known fact that Zacharias, too, was practically exiled for his atrocious attitude towards society and his nonconformist way of thinking; Hannah admired Hermione's strength in being an independent woman.

Harry knew that coming to him, shaking his hand, and introducing themselves, as well as the fact that Ernie and Cedric had yet to budge from their positions beside Harry, were all very conscience moves on their parts. They all knew that men and women of the upper classes were watching these actions, and that it could mean social scorn for all of them. Some, like Zacharias, perhaps didn't care; but for the others, it seemed that they were prepared to publicly side themselves with Harry, despite any consequences.

"Listen, Harry," Cedric said after the dozens of new supporters dispersed, "We'll have to catch up another time. We have another meeting to get to, and we don't want to be late."

"But we'll make sure to keep in touch," Ernie added. "We'll send a letter – and perhaps next week, we'll be able to drop by," he looked at Cedric for confirmation, who nodded.

Harry was clearly disappointed. "All right," he nodded. "I hope to see you both soon, then."

"This is perfect," Hermione said as she and Harry went to her carriage. "I never dreamed that so many people would offer their support. Especially people like Mr. Wood. He's extremely popular and influential. And with the Patil twins," Hermione smirked, "who knows? Maybe social reform will spread into India as well."

Harry entered the black carriage and stared out of the window as Hermione came in and sat across from him. The carriage began to move as Hermione asked, "Are you all right?"

He nodded.

"I know that this has all been moving a bit quickly. But think about it," she smiled. "Within a few months, your novel will be finished. The Potter name will be raised with you as you climb higher and higher. Malfoy will be put in his place, and people will recognize that this culture has space for meritocracy as well. You'll have moved into your parent's mansion in Surrey, and who knows? Maybe your job will be offered again. You can begin to search for those final artifacts, too…"

"Hermione," Harry sighed. "You're right – this is all absolutely great. It's just… unexpected, is all. I came here, expecting to be blasted by Malfoy, Bulstrode, Parkinson – and anyone else who supports them. Instead, I've become an icon." He turned an awkward smile to Hermione. "Not that that's a bad thing…"

She returned the smile brilliantly. "You better get used to change, Harry. I have the feeling that there's much more to come."

1: George Eliot was the penname of Mary Anne Evans, an English novelist of the Victorian era who used a male penname to ensure that her works were taken seriously. It's also claimed that Evans wanted to protect her private life and, to prevent scandals such as her affair, she hid her name from her novels.

2: Envy, one of the Seven Deadly Sins, was described by Shakespeare as the green-eyed monster in _Othello._


	5. The Self Made Man

**Chapter Five: The Self-Made Man**

Within the next few months, Harry was absolutely exhausted. Between writing his autobiography, attending the social gatherings he'd been invited to by his torrent of supporters, and actually getting a few moments of restless sleep, he felt like he had no time in the day to simply sit down for a minute or two and _relax_.

His hair stuck up in all directions, and his clothes always appeared to be rugged and wrinkled. Black marks of tiredness circled his eyes, and observers made it a habit of describing him as a sunken skeleton. Every time he appeared in public, a friend would ask him if he was feeling all right, or would state that he didn't look very well. Some were even bold enough to declare to Harry that he looked outright terrible. Harry, however, preferred to dismiss them all seemingly casually, as though nothing was wrong.

While his supporters took his word for it, and many let him be, his closer friends knew better and began to attempt to dissuade him from working himself into illness. Nonetheless, despite his friends' attempts, he _did_ eventually fall ill several times. At one point, exaggerated rumors spread across the countryside and London that Harry Potter, the Self-Made Man, was on his deathbed.

In spite of this, it unfortunately seemed that Harry was as stubborn as ever, and insisted on finishing the autobiography as soon as possible – even in sickness. He pushed himself further everyday, reminding himself of the freedom of relaxation that would present itself to him once he was finished – and of how good it would feel once he'd gotten his _real_ story to the public.

Everything he said in the interview – the very moment he was born, the murders of his parents, living with the abusive Dursley's, meeting the Weasley family, deciding to bring honor back to his family's name, running away and nearly encountering death, meeting Sirius and Remus, attending the University of Cambridge, choosing to move back to the Potter Mansion, being introduced to Draco Malfoy – and the brutal betrayal, all in the name of the so-called protection of an allegedly perfect society… His entire life was completely documented. Every page was a livid memory for Harry, a slur of emotions and events. It was strenuous for him as he chained his soul and being to the production of his story.

Finally, after months of diligence, illness, and fatigue, light broke as Harry and Hermione sat down one morning to write the epilogue.

"What have you learned from your journeys?" Hermione prompted professionally, though beneath the trained image, she was as exhausted as Harry, and nearly as impatient for the story to be completed.

It was all too obvious that Harry's head was aching, and – with a slight frown – he let it bow as he gazed at the floor thoughtfully. "How to stand up for myself against purposeless enemies."

"You're going to need more than that, Harry."

He sighed in frustration before giving it some more thought. "I guess – that elitism is not the ingredient to a perfect society." Hermione seemed to be considering it, though she wasn't necessarily excited about the idea. Harry's eyes involuntarily flicked upwards as he filed through his exhausted mind. Finally, he muttered, "Being an individual is not necessarily a horrible thing, as some people in this society would have us believe." When he saw that Hermione hadn't immediately dismissed the idea, he continued with more confidence, "I've learned to be proud as such an individual who has endured painstaking hard work for his position in life.

"It… doesn't matter that I was raised in the lower class. This doesn't necessarily make me lesser than one man – or better than another, simply because I was born into a higher level of society. I, like those of the higher class and the lower class, am a human being. We… we're all men," he finished, a look of frustration tensing his face into a frown.

Hermione sensed what he meant, however. She smiled and nodded, signaling to him that it was a fine idea. Harry carefully wrote all he'd said down. As he dotted the last period, he looked at Hermione, as though almost unsure of what he could possibly do next – as though almost expecting her to insist that he take a break before they moved on to outlining the next chapter, to fleshing it out, to working seemingly endlessly…

"Congratulations," she beamed. "You've finished The Self-Made Man."

He stared at her, at the epilogue he held in his hands, and back at her. It seemed that many elated thoughts raced though his head before he settled for, "I think I'll go to bed early tonight."

The next day, the Granger Mansion was filled with many of Harry's loyal supporters, old and new. Over the months, his support force had expanded. Some were people who simply hated Draco Malfoy, and wanted to use Harry as a tool to indirectly attack the man. Others sincerely believed in social reform, and that the Self-Made Man was the idol of change.

Many made donations to the publication and production of the book. Some made payments even though they knew they wouldn't receive the book for an extended period of time. They all eagerly asked when it would be released, claiming that the publication would be the most influential autobiography since that of Margery Kempe's. (1)

The Self-Made Man was expected to be a great book by many, amazing and inspiring for people of all classes. Harry's followers looked forward to it; and Draco's followers despised the very idea of it.

For weeks, the anticipation built up to such heights that it was all anyone could talk about. From ballrooms to the slums of London, from articles in respected newspapers to letters from a friend to another, from scholars in Cambridge to gossiping wives – The Self-Made Man became a common title. People who were strangers to one another, and didn't know of their social positions, would handle the title carefully. However, whenever among friends, people were sure to toss it about either casually or passionately. Either way, it was sure that everyone – including the enemies of Harry Potter – waited for the release with bated breaths.

When it was finally made available, the novel was certainly not disappointing in the least.

It was sold-out at many bookstores, and more copies had to be made. Harry's adventures thrilled many; women found their eyes tearing; people began to quote the final words in the epilogue to one another as though it was everyday speech.

Every time Harry was spotted on the street, he was treated as a celebrity. Most times, he was congratulated earnestly and treated as a superior being. The book had been a huge success, a fact that sent Harry into a full swing of high – the opposite of how he had been feeling a couple of weeks before. He didn't need anyone to tell him that he had returned to the status he had before The Self-Made Horse. The engine company had even returned their offer, sincerely apologetic – and not merely because Harry's novel had touched on the company's shallowness. The owner claimed that they had no idea he'd had to struggle so for his position in life, and said they would be sincerely honored if Harry considered researching for the company once again. It was after a follower near Ireland sent him a gold necklace in a package – a gold necklace that was claimed to be one of the family artifacts – that he knew he'd not only been restored to his previous status, but perhaps managed to climb even above that.

And the best part of the novel and its success was that Draco Malfoy was exposed for his appalling actions. Once, a man approached Harry on a street in London and clearly stated that he didn't agree with Harry's view on society; nevertheless, he felt that what Mr. Malfoy did to him was absolutely atrocious.

According to Cedric and Ernie, Draco had actually lost quite a few followers because of his actions reported in The Self-Made Man.

"Good," Ron said firmly from the sofa after listening to their news. "It's what the bastard deserves, if not more."

"You ought to be careful, though," Cedric warned Harry. "I heard a rumor that he may be challenging you to a duel soon."

"A _duel_?" Hermione repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit of an exaggerated reaction? Their conflict hasn't escalated high enough to warrant such a thing."

"Sometimes, it's not always about conflict, but rather about appearances," Ernie offered. "Perhaps it would be safer if you – er – _escorted _Mr. Potter around from now on," he suggested to Ron. "Until he's safely moved into Surrey, anyway."

Indeed, in three days he was to move into the family's mansion. According to Harry, Draco had gotten in the way of Harry's plans by writing The Self-Made Horse; but now that his status had returned and even grown, Harry didn't see any point in waiting to move into his parents' mansion. His friends warned him that too much change in such little time might make him feel awkward. However, Harry replied by reminding Hermione of her advice: "You had better get used to change," or something similar, was what she had told Harry. Well, by that time, he was not only used to change, but he found that he rather enjoyed it as well.

For a few days, Ron was to stay in Harry's London home and help him pack all of his valuables into boxes to help prepare for the move. (No furniture was necessary, for the manor in Surrey had remained completely furnished over the many years.)

"Are you nervous?" Ron asked as they sat together on the floor, flipping through old papers that had been stacked into boxes that surrounded the two. "How about this one?"

Harry squinted, leaned forward, and adjusted his glasses so that he could properly see the stained paper Ron held up in the dim light. "Hmm… I think that's a page out of a dictionary I ripped out from the library."

"It has a list of terms on it – seems scientific," Ron shrugged.

"No, it's all right," Harry said.

Ron shrugged and put it in one of the boxes. "So?"

"What?"

"Are you nervous?" he repeated.

Harry stared at a paper he held in his hands. "A little, I suppose. I mean, anyone would be, right?"

"Sure," Ron nodded. "Kind of sad, though, that you're not going to be so close to Ginny and me anymore. And pretty soon, I'm going to end up alone," he added jokingly.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Ron looked up, almost surprised. "Well, I guess you've just been too busy lately. Ginny has found this guy about a week ago – says she's in love. She wants to move in with him."

"Without marrying?" Harry smirked. "How… scandalous."

Ron laughed. "I'm surprised that you still allow yourself to be seen with us."

Harry's smirk turned into a lopsided grin.

"This one?"

Harry peered at the paper Ron held up. "That's a letter from Sirius and Remus!"

"So?"

"So, I want to keep it," Harry frowned and reached out for it.

Ron rolled his eyes as he gave it over. "You'll throw out scientific terms that might help with your career, but you'll keep a sentimental letter."

"Hey… I think I found it," Harry suddenly stood from the floor as he stared at the paper he held in his hands.

"What, the list of artifacts?"

"Yeah, this is it," Harry grinned. "Look, it has the gold necklace of Amelia Potter that was sent to me… I guess Finnigan wasn't lying in that note after all," Harry looked up at Ron.

"I don't know how you managed to lose that in the first place."

"I didn't really _lose _it… it just got caught in these stacks of papers."

"Well, since you found it, I guess we might as well just throw everything else away," Ron stood up also. "Want to move on to those?" he gestured at the volumes of books.

Harry nodded and approached the bookshelves with Ron. Ron pushed the stacks of papers to the side as Harry put the list safely and carefully on his desk. They each tenderly pulled out a volume from the bookshelves, minding their sore muscles from hours of pulling, pushing, and heaving, and began investigating the contents.

"Those artifacts are my last step before I've finished everything I set out to do," Harry said as he flipped through a book of Shakespearian sonnets. He tossed it to the side, marking it as the first book in the pile of books he had no desire to keep. "Finding them… Putting them where they _really_ belong…" The next book he pulled out was _The Canterbury Tales_. This, too, was thrown to the rejected side. _Beowulf_ soon followed, though _David Copperfield _and _Tess of the D'Urbervilles _were both spared.

Ron smirked, replying to Harry casually, "And then, finally, some closure."

"And relaxation," Harry grinned.

"Have you thought about anything you'll do afterwards?" Ron asked. "I mean, after you've settled into Surrey, started your job, found all of your artifacts…"

Harry shook his head. "No. No, not really. I guess I'll just live my life in comfort knowing that – well, you know – I've done everything I've always wanted to do."

Ron smiled at him, but the smile turned into a frown as he looked at the book he held in his hands. "You still have this?" he asked Harry, holding up the book with the title, The Self-Made Horse, written across it.

Harry hesitated before he also frowned, his hand reaching out for it. "I thought I had thrown this out…"

He stood up and stared at the cover of the book, at Draco Malfoy's name… "You know, I still can't believe that anyone would be so cruel."

"I can," Ron muttered. "These people only care about their reputations."

"I know," Harry sighed. "But… _still_."

"Give it here, I'll go throw it out now – "

"No," Harry shook his head. "It's okay. I'll… throw it out with the rest of this," he gestured around the room with a sheepish grin. "Let's just get back to sorting these things, all right? There's still a lot to go through."

The book was tossed to the side, ungracefully sliding into the pile of rejection.

On the second night, after those long, tiring days of sorting, pulling, pushing, carrying, and stacking, Ron was delighted to learn from a messenger of Hermione's that he would be blessed with a break from the planned work. Harry, on the other hand, had to hide his discontent at finding that he had to go to a social gathering he'd been invited to days ago, though – until that moment – he had assumed that moving to Surrey would be his priority.

However, by the late afternoon, Hermione's almost urgent message had declared he didn't have any choice in going after all. She had just found that the ball was being hosted by someone particularly important in the literary world. He was a popular producer of novels and, seeing that Harry had just released his own well-known novel, it would have been an insult to the entire literary community if he was to decline the invitation.

"We can finish this in the morning," Ron practically gleefully suggested to Harry, who adjusted the neck of one of his better yet uncomfortable suits.

Harry merely muttered something as he stepped into the messenger's carriage, and glared at the waving Ron as he rolled by.

He'd come a far way from his initial nervousness and uncertainty at attending balls. Now, with a sense of calmness, he could nearly predict the night's events. He'd been through the ordeal of attending a ball so many times that the most he felt was annoyance and boredom.

He arrived at the colossal mansion several hours later. It appeared by the small crowd of carriages waiting outside of the grey building that he was slightly early. Thanking Hermione's messenger, he sighed before stepping to the ground and taking his slow, casual steps up the stone pathway, around the flowing fountain, and up the granite steps to the large, wooden doors.

"Mr. Potter," a servant greeted Harry generously. "Welcome!"

Harry nodded his head at the radiant servant.

In the brightly lit hall, conversations halted for a moment as Harry passed by. A few greeted Harry with a nod and a polite smile; others quickly looked away, pretending to find the wine they held between their fingers far more interesting.

Inside of the marble, expensively furnished ballroom (Harry was sure he'd seen very similar diamond chandeliers before), Harry gazed around. He forced a smile every once in a while, but only genuinely and somewhat thankfully grinned when he spotted Neville Longbottom.

"Mr. Potter!" Neville said once he'd finally noticed Harry approaching him. "It's been a while," he returned the smile as they shook hands.

"It has," Harry agreed.

"Congratulations on The Self-Made Man," Neville murmured as they stepped away from the group Neville had been socializing with. "I was meaning to contact you, but Cambridge has practically kept me imprisoned these last few months. I've had to document my father's findings," he sighed. "Did Mr. Diggory and Mr. Macmillan find you?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "We've been meeting periodically."

"That's good. How about Mr. Wood?"

"Oliver Wood?"

"Yes," Neville frowned. "I suppose he hasn't. He told me that he wanted to invite you to one of his tournaments, but I suppose it's too late now."

"Oh, that's too bad. How long ago was this?"

"Only a few weeks. But you know, Harry," Neville said quietly, "it would be good of you to contact him anyway. He's pretty interested in your cause, I think, and might be willing to donate something to it."

Harry smiled. "It's kind of strange."

"What is?"

"That suddenly, social reform is considered my cause."

"Well, you _are_ the Self-Made Man," Neville grinned cheerily.

Harry and Neville spent a few more moments speaking enthusiastically before they were joined by three of Harry's female supporters, all of whom weren't known very well by Harry. The most he remembered of them were their names: Eloise Midgen (who had a severe case of acne, Harry couldn't help but notice), Lavender Brown (who seemed to be the boldest of the three), and the exceedingly shy Susan Bones. While he didn't know them very well, his boredom and annoyance had left for the moment, allowing him the freedom to have some unexpected enjoyment. When Harry expressed his content casually, Lavender politely laughed.

"I suppose you haven't seen Mr. Malfoy yet, then," she suggested. She didn't notice Harry's surprise as she continued, "If you had, then I suspect that you wouldn't be having quite as good a time."

"You mean to say that he's here?"

"But of course he is," Eloise said. She gestured to a spot far behind Harry, near the opposite end of the ballroom; and he forced himself to slowly and only slightly curiously turn around.

Indeed, there stood the arrogantly proud Draco Malfoy. He was desperately easy to spot, even in the large crowd that surrounded him. It was as though his vanity glowed, forcing his pale skin, icy eyes, and whitely blonde hair to stand out. It was as though those who enclosed him were merely shadows.

"This is the first time I've seen him since I published my book," Harry turned around with a charmingly lopsided grin. "I wonder if he enjoyed it at all."

They all laughed.

"Seeing you must be so awkward for him," one of the ladies suggested. "Do you feel uncomfortable?"

"Not at all," Harry lied with a seemingly sincere smile.

"Is what he did to you true?" Susan asked softly. "Tricking you like that?"

Harry's jaw clenched slightly and he nodded.

The three ladies murmured astounded whispers, shaking their heads. "How horrible…"

"I wouldn't be able to bear being in the same room with anyone who'd done something like that to me."

"At least now people know his true colors."

"Oh, the very nerve!"

They all turned to see the source of Lavender's outburst, and Harry felt himself become tense at the sight of the approaching Draco Malfoy. He took his time, strutting up to Harry, their connected gazes not once severing.

"Mr. Potter," Draco smirked once he reached. "How are you this fine evening?"

Those few words seemed to immediately catch the attention of everyone standing within a few yards. Suddenly, Harry and Draco were in center stage, and everyone – though they pretended otherwise for fear of being accused of nosiness – carefully listening to the words they exchanged.

Harry found that he could hardly muster up a response for fear of sounding too resentful under the watchful gazes. "Excellent, thank you. And yourself?"

Draco's sneer grew. "Likewise."

Harry nodded, clenching his jaw slightly.

"I just wanted to greet you, Mr. Potter, and note how much I truly enjoyed your novel."

A hush spread over the crowd. Everyone knew that The Self-Made Man had somewhat tarnished Draco Malfoy's perfect reputation, and that he had lost a few valued supporters because of it. Surely the man was a little more than upset; and that he was directly bringing the issue up with the author made Harry suspect that Cedric's prediction was moments from coming true.

"I especially found myself surprised and honored that you would include me in your autobiography. However," he said with a sense of genuine interest as he cocked his head to the side, "I couldn't help but be curious at your description of me. Don't get me wrong," he added, "I believe that your imagery was profound. It's just that… well, Mr. Potter, it's interesting how you described me as a… _'highly attractive man_,' I believe were your very words."

The silence of the ballroom was now overwhelming. It seemed that the orchestra had even stopped playing in order to lean over their private balcony to stare at the scene that was unfolding below them.

Harry levelly held Draco's sneering gaze, feeling nothing but a devastating desire to hit the man. His next words came out a bit too angrily for the fragile society that was looking on, yet he found that he honestly didn't mind as much as he should've. "What, exactly, are you trying to imply?"

"Well," Draco mocked, "I wouldn't say I'm implying anything… only noting that I've never been described as handsome by a _man_ before. I was only curious to know if you were – well," he glanced about in order to draw in the attention of the people around all the more, "a _homosexual_."

He truly did have some nerve, Harry angrily thought. Harry had just built himself up to a respectable level, and it was as though Draco could hardly wait a day before attempting to tear him back down.

It was a gallantly bold move, on Draco's part. At the frail whimpers and whispers of a few members in the crowd, Harry could tell that it was, perhaps, a bit _too_ bold. It seemed to him, however, that Draco knew it would be a risky move, and didn't care at all that scornful whispers followed his declaration. Silence quickly returned in eagerness to hear Harry's response.

"I described you as handsome, Mr. Malfoy," Harry's voice echoed heatedly, "in order to stress in my autobiography that I _trusted_ you enough to privately admit such a thing to myself. Apparently, that trust was misplaced."

Draco's eyes narrowed slightly and opened his mouth in order to respond, but he was inappropriately cut off as Harry unexpectedly continued, "And furthermore, I have to wonder if _you_ are, perhaps, the homosexual."

Now, Hermione – while in the libraries of Cambridge – had often warned Harry of reacting on his gut feelings; instead, according to her, it would be smarter to relax and carefully think before deciding to respond. However, it seemed that all of Hermione's advice was soundly ignored in that one instant. The words were out of Harry's mouth before he even properly thought of them – and it took him a moment to realize that he was, indeed, the one who said them.

The stillness of the ballroom gave the surreal feeling that time had frozen. Draco's gaze, focused on Harry alone, expressed several emotions in a single moment – shock, fear, rage – before they settled on a stony coldness.

And yet, Harry dared to continue on:

"After all, Mr. Malfoy, it seems to me that you're vastly interested in my life and personal affairs. It seems to me that _you're_ the one who is _obsessed _with _me_."

Everyone could hear the fury in Harry's fuming voice. It was as if his anger, pent up and not given the opportunity to be released at its source, was liberated all at once – at that very moment. The intensity of the anger forced a few in the crowd to step back, and it seemed for many that the rumored duel would occur within seconds.

However, before anything of the like could take place, Neville Longbottom found himself stepping in between Harry and Draco with a shaky, hallow laugh.

"Ah – er, that's funny, Mr. Potter… Mr. Malfoy," he nodded to both of them. He seemed like he was about to faint, and it didn't help at all that both Harry and Draco sent stern, burning glares his way. Nonetheless, he continued on with a thick swallow, "Very, very funny, actually. I – don't think I've heard such a funny joke in years."

"You're right, Mr. Longbottom," Lavender suddenly gave a very high-pitched laugh. "Accusing each other of _homosexuality_…" It seemed that she couldn't think of anything else to say, so she gave another high-pitched laugh.

Eloise and Susan, too, began to loudly giggle; and, before long, many in the crowd began to join them in the nervous, faked guffawing frenzy.

Harry stared around at them, bewildered and still infuriated. He looked back at Draco's proud stare, and only looked away once Neville had managed to successfully steer him away, through the crowd that quickly parted for him. It was when he was in the entrance hall of the mansion that he snatched his hand away from Neville's.

"_What_ are you _doing_?" Harry demanded.

"Harry," Neville said with a slight tremble, "I wish you would just _look around you_."

The anger in Harry's eyes withdrew slightly as he was taken aback. He eyed Neville before his stare left the pale man's. He took a few steps backward so that he could gaze into the ballroom. The people were whispering amongst themselves. Some seemed excited that they had witnessed a confrontation between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy firsthand; others seemed upset – and, in some cases, outright affronted. The group around Draco seemed to grow considerably.

"Draco Malfoy is a notable author, and has the respect of many here, Harry," Neville whispered. "It wouldn't be _smart_ to attack him here, in a place like this… socially… _or_ physically."

Silence enveloped them before Harry mumbled, "Maybe I should go home – back to London."

Neville nodded. "Do you need me to come with you?"

"No, it's okay. I'll be fine."

As Harry quickly left the mansion and arrived at the carriages, he thought of how _wrong_ and _cruel _the whole situation was.

He was plagued by the echoes of Draco's accusation, haunted by the familiar burning of anger in his gut. There was _no_ _way _that a man, a human being, could be so unnecessarily cruel. Was his opinion really so important that he was willing to damage a man's reputation – his _life_ – after that man worked so hard to build it?

Homosexual.

It was like declaring that Harry was a thief, a rapist, a man who would kidnap children and take advantage of their innocence, and a raving murderer. By proclaiming that Harry was a homosexual, Draco was also stabbing violently at his social reputation. Had Harry not jumped on him, not destroyed that consideration, everyone in that room would have helped to spread the rumor that Harry was not only the Self-Made Man, but also a…

He sighed in frustration, running his hands through his hair. The suddenness of being so close to watching his reputation destroyed forced Harry into thinking that there was no point in meditating over what had happened, but rather let it pass, and merely take it as a warning that Draco may attempt to destroy his status again.

Yet, for some reason… even after arriving in London, and settling down in his bed beside the slumbering Ron… he couldn't stop thinking about what Draco had said. It wasn't the fact that he had accused, but rather the accusation that Harry found himself fixating on. It was dangerous to even privately consider it, and should have dismissed the thought immediately – but it simply would not stop nagging at him. Through the night, it endlessly teased him before he restlessly and guiltily got out of the bed he shared with Ron and sat at the table, peering into the darkness.

The thought reminded him that the last time he'd had any romantic interest in a woman was when he was ten years old. In Cambridge University, a few bored men took it upon themselves to spread rumors that Harry was Cho's lover – and at another point, that Harry and Hermione were tenderly affectionate with one another. But they were false rumors, created only because Harry was constantly found in their presence. He loved them, but strictly as friends. The burning attraction he'd heard men describe? He couldn't ever remember feeling something like that for a woman.

Even when accompanied by Lavender, Eloise, and Susan that evening, he felt no inkling of a stirring. He could somehow imagine Draco Malfoy's face hovering in the darkness, laughing at him nastily.

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron asked the next morning. He pushed the final box of valuables into the wall beside the door. "You seem… distracted."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure – ?"

"_Yes_, Ron, I'm _fine_," Harry insisted.

He tried to force himself to concentrate on pushing boxes, but the thought kept invading Harry's mind.

Really, Homosexuals were never accepted in society. Their attraction to the same gender – it was a disease, according to many. They were the modern lepers. They were disgusting, obscene, and often judged for gross indecencies. They lost many loved ones after admitting their awful habits – friends, family members, guardians, and supporters… all were known to abandon homosexuals. Social reputations were also completely destroyed. Oscar Wilde was the perfect example. Harry decided that he would be next if he didn't stop thinking about the consideration.

Yet even at the Granger Mansion, as Hermione filed through several papers, Harry could hear her voice, but had a difficult time listening to what she was saying.

During their midday break, Harry found himself aimlessly wandering down the dark, empty hallways alone. He uncertainly questioned himself, reflected on how deadly it could be to even wonder if he was – and before long, he was inside of the dark shadows of the library, in the loneliest, dustiest section.

A book he pulled out claimed that homosexuality was once accepted, and wouldn't be used as a negative insult, or a tool to attempt to tear down one's status. In fact, it was once so accepted that homosexuality was honored. A man was seen as all the more masculine if he expressed his love for another man. A man was seen as a mentor if he took in a younger man, and taught him the ways of society, of love, and of sexuality.

Another book declared that many historically famous men were homosexuals. Alexander the Great, for example, loved many a man. The noble leader's favorite lover was named Hephaestion, but he was also known to share his bed with a beautiful Persian slave named Bagoas and many younger soldiers. It said that Shakespeare, too, may have had male lovers, and that the object of his affection in many of his love sonnets could have included not only the Dark Lady, but a _Mister_ William Hughes. Socrates, Michelangelo, Christopher Marlowe, Lord Byron, Julius Caesar, King Edward II, Roman emperor Hadrian, Donatello… men who were the giants whose shoulders society stood upon…

"Harry?"

He snapped the book shut and twisted his head around, staring guiltily up at Hermione, who curiously loomed over him. "What are you doing?"

"Reading," he said quickly. "I'm done now, though."

"Oh," she gazed at him oddly. She hesitated before she murmured, "Harry, are you sure you're feeling all right? You've been acting strangely all day."

He didn't answer as he stacked the books and carried them from the small table he'd been sitting at. Hermione, exasperated, unexpectedly snatched The Secret Homosexuals out of his hands, keeping it out of Harry's reach as he angrily and almost desperately attempted to take it back. She furrowed her eyebrows before also taking Homosexuality of the Ancient Era.

"Harry," she frowned, "why are you reading these books?"

Stuck, he kept his eyes focused on anywhere but Hermione as he silently took the books back from her grasp and shoved them on the shelf.

"Neville stopped by last night," she said. "He told me about your and Malfoy's confrontation."

He nodded.

"You're not – attempting to expand on your accusation, are you?"

He hesitated.

"Harry, to continue accusing Draco Malfoy of homosexuality would – "

"I'm not," he said quietly.

"Then _why_?" Hermione demanded. "You're worrying me, Harry." When he didn't reply, she sighed, "Maybe it would be better if you waited for a while before – you know, moving into Potter Mansion."

"No," he said forcefully. "I'm ready to move. It's just that…"

Hermione's genuinely worried gaze forced him to soften. He sat back down in the hard chair, gripping his hands together as though in prayer, and stared hard at the surface of the table. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this library – do you understand? Don't tell _anyone_. Not Neville, not Ginny, not Ron – "

"Not Ron?" she repeated, surprised.

"_Especially _not Ron," Harry mumbled.

She frowned and sat across from him, finally sensing the seriousness of the situation.

"I was… researching homosexuality," he murmured, "because… I was curious."

Hermione, bewildered, said carefully, "That's a dangerous thing to be curious about, Harry."

"I know," he sighed. "I know. And I know that this is horrible timing, but after what Malfoy said… I couldn't help but realize that he has a _point_. I've _never_ been attracted to a woman like I ought to be."

He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "I never really thought about it before, but now… I can't help but wonder if I'm a homosexual."

Hermione sat in silence at the confession. Harry shifted uncomfortably, believing that her gaze was completely judgmental. He dreaded that, within moments, she would disgustedly accuse Harry of absolute sin. When she spoke, Harry realized that he'd actually been holding his breath anxiously for her response.

"I'm… surprised. I never saw this coming," she finally admitted. "But Harry, you have to understand – no matter what, you will _always_ have my full support." She smiled and reached across the table to embrace his hand when she noticed his immense relief.

"I just need some time to think," Harry eventually nodded quietly. "I honestly don't even know for sure. It's… just a possibility, is all," he added quietly. "But Hermione, please – _don't tell anyone_. I just want to move in to the mansion… and then I'll be in an oasis, privately able to think."

She nodded in understanding.

1: _The Book of Margery Kempe _is considered by many to be the first autobiography ever written.

AN: Thank you for so much for your interest in this story! I'm enjoying writing it, really. It's pretty fun. XD I especially liked getting the chance to reveal the famous homosexuals of the past. I mean, I know I'm kind of just preaching to the choir here, but I deal with SO many homophobes who have NO idea that their lives and society have been shaped by such people.

… ANYWAY. XD

Two things that I probably should've addressed a while ago:

1. Someone wondered about how Voldemort would influence this story. If you want Voldemort to be part of this, then you might think of him as the elitist society Harry is against. I know, it sounds like a bit of a stretch comparison at first… but in this fanfic, seeing that the main conflict is man vs. society, I would say that Voldemort's role and purpose is already being played out for the most part, you know?

2. Someone was concerned over the legitimacy of this story because, in the summary, I imply that Charles Dickens is part of Victorian society.

Well… it's fact that he _is_ part of Victorian society. He might not have lived completely through it like Wilde did, but his works absolutely influenced the era. There's no denying that.

Okay, I'm sorry if it seemed I was ignoring reviews. I'm definitely not – in fact, I'm really grateful for all of them. I hope that you all enjoy the next chapter. :D


	6. The Potter Mansion

**Chapter Six: The Potter Mansion**

Flashes of memory made moving into the Potter mansion harder for Harry – much harder than he ever thought it would be. It was strange, seeing that he had lived there for only one year of his life; yet he recognized the smiling portraits that lined the entrance hall so well. The simplistic wallpaper, too, with a warm trim was overwhelmingly familiar. After uncovering the furniture from the protective white sheets, he found that he somehow knew the elaborate styles and patterns of floral design in the wood. Even when Hermione tested the keys of the white piano in Harry's new sitting room, the pangs of sound were all too memorable. The only things that seemed to be missing from the Potter Mansion were comforting touches, serene voices, and gentle laughter – though the ghosts of those memories did remain.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were the official cleaning crew. From room to room, they dusted, wiped, and swept. All were surprised that every door to each room in the mansion opened freely. Usually, in manors such as those, at least one or two doors were permanently barred – usually with a mystery behind the restriction. (To be honest, Ron was a little disappointed that all of the doors opened, seeing that this meant a lot more work. For, although the mansion was a lot smaller than – say – the Zabini or the Granger mansion, it was still pretty damned large.)

After the finishing touches were placed, the manor felt friendlier. Ginny put a vase of colorful flowers on the white piano; Hermione put Harry's favorite volumes and books, such as _Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Pride and Prejudice, _and _The Jungle Book _on the bookshelves; Ron helped to put his clothes away in the empty closet.

In the beginning, the contentment of being with his joyful friends and inside of the satisfyingly comfortable, refreshing manor, temporarily distracted Harry from the troubles that had been haunting his mind. However, as the day wore on, he couldn't ignore the shadowed hint of guilt that was slowly growing.

By the end of the day, exhausted and shivering from the cold, they sat down in Harry's sitting room with cups of hot tea to relax. It was a brightly lit room, for it was open to a balcony with glass doors – though both were shut to keep the chilly winter breeze from wafting in.

"Being out here in the countryside, all by yourself," Ginny sighed tiredly. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"A bit late to be asking that, don't you think?" Ron turned to her from his position beside Harry. "After we just spent all day moving him in?"

"I'm fine," Harry insisted quietly, shifting in his seat and glancing at an unaware Ron uncomfortably. (The more he was around Ron, the more he felt as though a perverted, demonic side to him was trying to take advantage of his best friend. Nonetheless, he forced himself to act as though nothing was the matter.) "Besides, Hermione is close enough."

"This _is_ a really beautiful place," Hermione stood from the couch and strolled to the glass doors. She stared out at the snow-covered lawn, glittering from the sun – the white forest in the distance, where it seemed the sun was preparing to set behind… "I wouldn't mind coming by every once in a while."

"You should host a ball," Ginny said, as though it was a sudden epiphany. "Invite all of your supporters. It'll be to celebrate your success, and having moved into Surrey."

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "Balls are usually so boring. Why would I willingly put myself into a situation to attend one?"

"How could you not?" Ginny asked. "Your supporters have invited you to so many. Now, this is the perfect opportunity to express your appreciation and return the favor."

"Sure," Hermione nodded. "The ballroom seemed big enough to host plenty of people."

"Just as long as you don't invite me," Ron smirked as he took a sip of his tea.

Harry forced a sheepish grin. "I… I'll think about it, I guess. For now, I just want to settle in."

It took a while before this could properly happen. While within a few days all of his valuables were properly moved into the mansion and brought a sense of his London flat into the manor, it took Harry several weeks to feel completely comfortable. He wasn't used to the vastness, and after his friends left, he suddenly found the seemingly infinite silent white fields surrounding the manor rather lonely.

Perhaps being isolated in the country side during the ignored days of Christmas was for the better, though:

Firstly, as mentioned before, when his friends were there he felt anxious and guilty – as though he was lying to them by keeping away his internal conflict. What's worst is that he felt immensely pressured under Hermione's seemingly all-knowing gaze. He knew she didn't mean anything by it, but sometimes, she truly was absolutely intimidating. It was as if she was wordlessly demanding where he was in his self-analysis, and only served as an unnerving reminder that he had not progressed any further.

Irritation grew in him as the thought of being a homosexual became continuously gnawing. It was beginning to wear a hole into his mind. He felt as though he was going insane with frustration and a lack of sleep from the hours of staying up every night, lost in his world of self-persecution. Every time he glanced in a mirror, he stared at his reflection – unbelieving that the man he looked at was truly him. Dark shadows had appeared under his eyes; his cheeks had lost all color; he was becoming thin, and looked sickly. It was as though he was still writing The Self-Made Man. He immediately remembered how his friends and supporters had reacted to his appearance during those long months, and knew that they would be worried if they were to see how miserable he seemed now.

Harry did not want to ruin his content façade, especially when they worked so hard to make him pleased. So, as the days passed – alone in his manor – no matter how much he longed for their company, he made it a stern habit to avoid calling on them. He even took to ignoring the letters they sent to him. Something told him that it was unfair to them; but at the same time, he thought it unfair to be among them while pretending to be someone that he wasn't.

With such a mixture of loneliness and uncertainty, it was simply unavoidable that, by the end of those forlorn weeks, his mind was wrapped in a tight depression. It was mild – nothing dangerous – but still made itself known to Harry as he was smothered by an empty, hollow feeling.

Eventually, he began to feel self-loathing. As the target of an elitist society, Harry initially figured that, if his goal was to be interrupted once again, it would be because of Draco Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and other such elitists. It was just _too bloody ironic _that, in the end, his looming downfall would be by his own destructive hands. It pained him, brought him regret and grief that he managed to reach such a level and survive multiple attacks – only to be on the verge of falling because he simply couldn't dismiss an accusation, as though it was false. It seemed that all of the work he and his friends and followers had done – the years of painstaking toil and effort, being driven by only himself and his noble needs – would be for nothing. And what would his parents think? Would they ever accept a son like him? He could imagine them before him: disappointed and disgusted.

He'd reached a peak in his revulsion when unexpected communication from the outside world managed to reach him: he received a letter from Sirius and Remus.

For a moment, he forgot his dissatisfaction. He hadn't gotten a letter from them in months, and so much had happened – he immediately sat down and tore the seal open. He read the fancy handwriting of Remus, and the corners of his lips stretched into the rarest of a smile. They were proud of him for the success of his novel, and claimed that his parents, too, would be extremely proud of him. They both missed him terribly, and declared that, as soon as possible, they would visit him in London (if he would have them.)

Harry smirked slightly. He wondered how they would feel when he wrote back, telling them that he was no longer in London – that he was now in Guildford of Surrey. Perhaps they would be grateful; after all, after such a long journey from Durham, the Potter Mansion would be far more comfortable than a cramped flat in London.

He quietly thought about how they would react if he was to confess his private thoughts. Would they be disgusted and disown him? Would they offer cautioned advice? Perhaps they wouldn't mind. Perhaps they would say that being a homosexual didn't change the fact that Harry was a skilled writer, an intelligent technologist, and a good son and friend. He dreamed that he would be able to announce that he was a homosexual and that they, as well as his friends and followers, would accept this uncertain side of him generously and sincerely. After all, they were all for social reform; perhaps they could find it within themselves to see the unfairness of a society that acted so strongly against a group of men and women. If his parents were still alive, surely they, too, would see the best in their son.

Of course, the chances of any of those possibilities were far too slim.

He sighed, setting the letter on top of the pile of read and unanswered letters he'd received from Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, where it was sure to remain ignored for quite some time.

Nevertheless, the seemingly inexhaustible unhappy stages – along with his unhealthy appearance – wore away like the melting snow and was replaced by a tired, grudging acceptance. He told himself that, similarly to how he could not change winter storms, he could not change this in himself. A couple of times, he even found himself curiously enraptured in fictional daydreams of the corners of his imagination – though, once he caught himself, he immediately wiped away all inappropriate thoughts in an embarrassing waking.

It was on a sunny morning, much warmer than the mornings preceding it, that Harry heard someone calling for him through the balcony doors.

It was Colin Creevey, flushed in the cheeks and nose with an eager gleam to his eye. He had dropped by to welcome Harry to Surrey. Harry felt awkward, for this was the first person he'd seen in many weeks – and the first since his official revelation. Nonetheless, he warmly welcomed him into his home.

As they were relaxing, Colin gave Harry a free copy of that week's newspaper, and Harry was almost embarrassed to see that his move to Surrey was a featured article, right beside an article declaring the Lumiere brothers' success in Paris (1).

"People have practically scrambled to get this week's newspaper," he grinned. "You're big news, coming to Surrey."

"I – didn't think it would be that important," Harry murmured.

"You must be jesting," Colin almost laughed. "You're the highest demanded topic in Surrey at this time. Everyone wants to read about you. And, you know, since Mr. Malfoy lives near – "

"You mean to say that he's here – in _Surrey_?" Harry interrupted incredulously, nearly choking on his tea.

"Nowhere near Guildford, I assure you," Colin waved it off. "But as an editor, I've heard a few rumors that he might be paying you a little visit soon to – er – well, challenge you to a _duel_." He paused, Harry supposed, to strengthen the effect. "But I honestly can't see _why_ Mr. Malfoy would want to duel with you. You're such an honest gentleman!"

Harry was hardly listening as Colin rambled on. He thought he knew quite a few reasons why Draco Malfoy might want to challenge him to a duel. After publicly declaring that Draco was a homosexual, it seemed that Cedric's warning was sure to ring true.

Colin was only the first in a long chain of cautioning visitors. It seemed that, after the publication of the article, many of his followers felt obliged to stop by over the passing days and welcome Harry to Surrey. They would all speak cheerily as they sipped his offered tea, chatting about various subjects – novels, worldly affairs, or perhaps how beautiful Harry's furniture was – before implying that they could foresee a duel on the horizon. Indeed, two days before Draco Malfoy finally showed up at the Potter Mansion, Cedric and Ernie made a point to stop by, congratulate Harry on his successful move, and make a very clear point that they'd heard from quite a few sources that Draco had been highly insulted by both the novel, The Self-Made Man, and his public insinuation. They reinforced what they had previously hinted at, suggesting that Harry be particularly careful about where he went and who he let into his home.

When Draco did come to the Potter Mansion, Harry opened the door, expecting yet another of his amicable followers. And, despite the many warnings, Harry found that he was aghast – as though Draco was the man Harry least expected (and certainly least wanted) to see.

Harry didn't even have a chance to absorb the fact that Draco was standing in front of him. By the time it had truly sunk in, Draco was already inside of his mansion, gazing about haughtily. Harry plainly felt as though he'd been rudely invaded, and was upset that Draco maintained an arrogant expression as he waltzed into the hall, as though it was his own home. Instead of worrying about the possibility that, perhaps, Draco was there to challenge him to a duel, Harry found himself heatedly ready to demand that the other leave _immediately_.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry said angrily and dazedly. The door was still wide open as he coldly stared at Draco, who returned the look with a vicious smile. "What a…" Harry found that he couldn't even bring himself to form the words "pleasant surprise."

"Mr. Potter," Draco nodded his head mockingly. "I traveled several hours in the freezing cold in order to be entertained by you. Hopefully you won't spend my entire visit standing by the door, gawping at me."

Harry shook his head slightly, still obviously absolutely confounded. "What're you doing here?"

"Can't a man welcome his new neighbor?"

Harry clenched his jaw and cleared his throat. "Of course he can. But something tells me that you didn't travel several hours merely to welcome me to Surrey, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco smirked. "My, you certainly don't miss anything." When Harry simply stared frigidly at him in reply, he sneered, "I'm sure that we'll get to the reason as to why I visited you, Mr. Potter, in our conversation; however, right now I'm starting to feel insulted that you haven't properly welcomed me into your home."

Harry disdainfully wondered for a few silently tense moments just how insulted Draco would feel if Harry was to kick him out of his home. However, he came to the sad realization that, if he was to do this, Draco might use the action against Harry by declaring that he truly was the rudest man in all of Surrey, if not England. Instead, he slammed the door shut against the bitter wind and grudgingly gestured with his hand for Draco to walk down the hall. After reaching the bright sitting room, Harry was silently enraged that Draco so comfortably sat down on Harry's sofa. To make a point, he stood tall over Draco, casting a shadow over the man who stared up snootily.

"Aren't you going to offer me any drinks?" Draco asked Harry with a leer.

Harry merely eyed him.

"Your rudeness continues to astound me," Draco murmured. "Declaring that I'm a homosexual was a bold move," he added softly, as though it was an afterthought. "Writing The Self-Made Man…"

"I know that you've been considering challenging me to a duel. Is that why you're here today? To challenge me?"

Draco held back a nasty laugh. "No, not at all, Mr. Potter. I would never consider attempting to kill another man in his own home."

"What about outside of his home, then?"

"That really does depend, Mr. Potter, on whether you're willing to set forth _any _ounce of politeness today."

Harry stood stiffly for a few more moments before he reluctantly moved to sit down on the sofa opposite of Draco.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry demanded. "Don't you think that challenging me is a bit of an _extreme _reaction?"

"Whoever said that I was going to challenge you?"

"Why else would you be here?" Harry asked him distrustfully.

"To warn you, perhaps, that I'm being _pressured_ into challenging you," Draco eventually said. "I have to admit, though, that duels – while traditional, I suppose, in a twisted sense – personally irk me." When it seemed that Harry still hadn't quite believed him, he continued with an annoyed sigh, "I find them quite pointless, and honestly don't want to risk my life fighting a man – peasant or otherwise. As a boy, I meaninglessly jeopardized my life countless times in such senseless affairs. I would like to think that, as an adult, I've moved from such… _encounters_."

Harry was taken aback. He leaned into the back of his seat and stared openly at Draco. "You're… _warning_ me?"

"Yes – warning you. And," Draco glanced at his composed hands, "suggesting, I suppose, that you refrain from attempting to publicly humiliate me."

At this, Harry surprised stare turned to avid disgust. "What are you implying, Mr. Malfoy? That you have every right to publicly insult me, but the favor can't be returned?"

"This is why peasants ought to stay peasants," Draco's eyes narrowed slightly. "Any man of the higher classes would realize that a man of lower status can be offended, slighted, and snubbed repeatedly – but not once should he _ever _return an insult to a man of higher status. It's a social game, Mr. Potter – something that you aren't well acquainted with, obviously."

"It's a _petty_ social game," Harry said, clearly enraged. "You're damned right that I'm not well acquainted with it, and I'm not going to waste my time attempting to _be _well acquainted with it, either."

"Now you see, Mr. Potter, it's _that precise _attitude that will eventually force me to agree with my faction. If you continue your blatant rudeness, then I truly won't have any choice _but _to act against you and challenge you to a duel. If I don't, then I'll be questioned."

"Yet you see no problem acting against me in other instances," Harry muttered crossly.

"Of course not, Mr. Potter. If someone doesn't act against men like you, then a society that has the foundation of centuries of tradition will be unwittingly ruined. Men like _you _need to be destroyed before this happens."

"And so you'll cruelly attack men like me," Harry said, clearly now enraged, "in order to keep an elitist civilization."

"Exactly," Draco sneered, obviously getting pleasure from the furious look spread across Harry's face.

"I wonder," Harry murmured, "that surely you don't actually _enjoy_ being heartless."

An incredulous gasp of laughter escaped Draco. "This isn't a matter of personal satisfaction."

"Yet you seem content in completely abusing my trust. It seems ridiculous to me, Mr. Malfoy," he added as he noticed that Draco was beginning to speak, "that you would use _any _opportunity as an attempt to destroy my status. It's bizarre and _obsessive._"

At this, Draco's gaze narrowed. "Yes, you've said that before."

"With reason, I can assure you. I must admit, it's almost unnerving to have a man so attached to me," Harry said forcefully with a mocking tone.

"I believe that it would be wise of you to not provoke me," Draco drawled. "I came here out of – _politeness_."

"And fear," Harry muttered.

Ignoring the interruption, he continued, "I could handle the situation differently, if I wished to. I could challenge you right now, if I deemed it necessary."

When he noticed that Harry was silently scoffing rather than trembling, Draco said quietly, "You seem to have forgotten that I'm a very powerful man, Mr. Potter."

"I haven't forgotten. Yet at the same time, I suppose that I ought to remind you that I've gained the respect of many. You may consider me below you, Mr. Malfoy, but many think us equal rivals now. I'm rather powerful as well. Perhaps _you _ought to remember that."

At this, Draco met Harry's declaration with silence before sighing with difficulty. Standing, he stated, "Perhaps it's time that I left. I simply can't stand impolite hosts."

"If you're finished," Harry gestured for the door of the sitting room.

After Draco left, Harry found that he couldn't last in his isolation laced with visits by men and women with empty smiles. The visits reminded him of what he was missing: his true, solid and supportive friends. He immediately called on Hermione, Ron, and Ginny.

They all arrived in the early morning the following day. They all seemed oblivious to the deep depression that Harry had been rooted in, and hadn't any inkling that he'd been confronted by Draco Malfoy the previous day. Ginny was her sassy, happy self – as usual – and was excited to finally see Harry. Ron, however, was strangely cold. He seemed upset that Harry took so long to communicate with them, and implied that he imagined that Harry thought himself too good to be seen with scoundrels such as himself, Ginny, and Hermione. This obviously wasn't the case; and Harry found himself frustrated with Ron's attitude. He could only hope that, eventually, it would wear off.

Hermione, of course, was worried. At some point, she pulled Harry to the side and, in a whisper, asked him how he was doing with his contemplations. When he told her, she was covered by a solemn, serious silence. Harry cleared his throat, staring at her nervously, waiting for her to say something – anything.

Finally, she murmured, "You know – it's a hard life, socially, for homosexuals. There's no doubt that, if a man was to come out as one, his reputation would fall dramatically. For example, look at what John Sholto Douglas has done. He's done all he can to absolutely persecute his son's lover in any way, with any means possible (2)."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"Yet… I believe that a homosexual man must have a feeling of self-pride and self-worth," she added softly, "knowing that being true to himself is more important than impressing others. It's a luxury not many of us can afford, as you've come to realize over the years."

"Are you now suggesting, after all of this time, that I stay truer to myself?"

"It's a difficult subject, Harry," Hermione admitted, shaking her hand. "Honestly? I'm not _sure _what to think. I guess I feel that, now that you've done mostly everything you've set out to do – well, you can now afford to be more honest to your real feelings."

It was true: Harry had certainly achieved almost everything he wanted. He'd come close to gaining all of the family artifacts, refurbished the Potter Mansion, and restored the Potter name. Of course, he noted with a frown, if he was to come out as a homosexual, the name would return to the dirt – along with the icon of the Self-Made Man.

"In addition," Hermione continued, apparently oblivious to Harry's conflicting thoughts, "I also think that it's quite interesting that there are rumors of secret homosexual organizations pushing for social reform. More and more men of Ganymede are proudly coming forth (3)."

He nodded, but a frown was across his face. "I've worked too hard, Hermione – we all have. We've all diligently and painstakingly worked to prove a point against the upper classes. I can't throw all of that away, just because I've had a sudden epiphany about – " he swallowed, forced himself to stop rambling, and to give the rightful decision: "I can't, Hermione."

She seemed almost disappointed, but she also understood. "There is something that you can and should do, however."

The look he gave her was expectant and slightly confused.

"Harry, I think that Ron and Ginny deserve to know."

"Absolutely not," he said immediately.

"Harry!"

"_No_," he said almost too harshly, before he realized his tone and took a deep breath. "I'm lucky enough to have your support, Hermione; but admitting this to you _really _could've ended horribly. I refuse to risk their friendship and respect too."

"You don't truly have their friendship or respect if they don't know who they are. You should be proud enough of yourself, and they _ought to know_ – Harry!" she yelled when he turned away. "They have been by your side numerous times. We've helped you overcome so many obstacles – and I know that, hadn't I known, I would've wanted you to tell me! I would be _damned angry _with you if you didn't."

He sighed deeply, abruptly leaving the shadowed corridor and returning to the sitting room. A few moments later, Hermione – looking rather flustered – followed him in. Luckily, Ginny and Ron didn't recognize the tenseness between the two, though every glance they happened the share was bothered, and resulted only in them looking away quickly.

Hermione sat at the piano and began to play a version of the normally complicated symphony by Ludwig Spohr – perhaps as an attempt to let out her frustration – as Ron stood on the balcony (sulkily, moodily, and obviously still upset with Harry), and Ginny sat beside Harry on the sofa.

"Ron told me that you would be living with someone else soon," Harry grinned at Ginny, fretfully deciding to turn his back towards Hermione. Ron glanced in the room at the sound of his name, but did nothing more.

"Oh, did he?" Ginny suddenly looked at Ron, rather embarrassed. "That was – a _phase_."

"He told me this only a few weeks ago!"

She clasped her hands and shifted in her seat. "Yes, well, I figured out that he wasn't the best fit for me after all."

Harry laughed. "Well, the best of luck to you and finding your best fit."

"What about you, Harry?"

He sipped some of his tea. "What about me?"

"When are you going to try to find your best fit?"

At this, Hermione accidentally pressed the wrong key. During her hesitation, she and Harry shared an awkward glance before she returned to playing. He stared blankly at Ginny. "What do you mean?"

She sighed exasperatedly. "Come on now, Harry – surely you don't plan on living alone for the rest of your life. You're at the perfect age to find a beautiful, lovely woman and sweep her off of her feet! I just finished _Pride and Prejudice_," she added, "and I have to say, you remind me of Mr. Bingley. You know – the kind, good-natured fellow. Now, you just need to find yourself a Jane Bennet," she said wisely.

Harry avoided answering her. "I suppose you think yourself as Elizabeth Bennet."

"I might as well be," she smirked sassily, "with the size of my family. But no," she sighed, "No, I'm not Elizabeth. I'm Lydia."

Harry outright laughed at that. "Perhaps that _is_ a better comparison, after all."

"But Elizabeth and I _do_ have something in common: I could never stand a man like Mr. Darcy. He rather reminds me of Mr. Malfoy, wouldn't you agree? The sheer nerve!" (4)

"Have you actually _finished _the book, Ginny?" Harry asked doubtfully.

She shifted her gaze several times before deciding to say flippantly, "That's quite beside the point, Harry, you know."

He shook his head disbelievingly with a grin. "But in the book, Mr. Darcy turns out to be a lot better than Jane Austen would have you initially imagine."

"Really?" Ginny frowned thoughtfully. "I don't think Mr. Malfoy could be good, though."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe he'll surprise us someday."

"You've got to be joking," Ginny laughed.

"Well, Elizabeth wouldn't have thought that Mr. Darcy would turn out to be good in the end."

"If he does turn out to be as good as you claim, then it's only because he was in love with her," she said softly. "If he wasn't, then he would have continued to be a right ass."

Harry couldn't find a response for that.

"Harry," Ginny looked at him, suddenly cheerful, "I've been wondering, lately… You _will _tell us when you've fallen in love, won't you? We're close enough friends to know even about your secret love affairs, right?" Without waiting for him to reply, she continued, "The idea is so exciting. And even though Ron is acting strangely," she leaned in to say to him quietly, "I'm sure he'll want to know also. We've all been friends since childhood, and to not know such things – it'll hurt both of us, you know. Both of us – Ron and I, I mean – are already afraid that we're straying from you… that we don't truly _know _you anymore."

He smiled, ignoring the blatant look Hermione was sending him. "Don't worry, Ginny; we're still as close as ever."

"So you'll tell us, then? When you've been star-struck?" she grinned at him.

"Yes, of course I'll tell you."

She beamed. "Great." She sighed, suddenly standing up. "May I borrow your copy of _Pride and Prejudice_? I'm curious to finish the novel now."

"Sure," he nodded to her.

The song that was playing lightly in the background came to an end. Hermione stood from the piano and slowly came to the couch, replacing Ginny's old spot. For a while, she didn't say anything and merely waited for Harry to sigh and lean back into his seat. "All right, Hermione. I'll tell them."

1: The Lumiere brothers, Auguste and Louis Lumiere, displayed their first moving picture in Paris on December 28th of 1895.

2: John Sholto Douglas was the father of Lord Alfred Douglas, one of Oscar Wilde's lovers. John Sholto Douglas began a public persecution of Wilde when he found that his son and Wilde were having an affair. It's rumored that he attempted to throw rotten vegetables at the premiere of Wilde's _The Importance of Being Earnest_.

3: Ganymede of Greek mythology has often been depicted in various paintings and poems as a baby boy, kidnapped and raped by Zeus. However, the original mythology portrays him as a boy who was the most beautiful of all mortals. He was made the willing, loving cupbearer – an official servant of the Greek Gods – and was a lover of Zeus himself.

4: The characters mentioned from _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen are used for character development (and perhaps foreshadowing), with Ginny as Lydia Bennet, who is thought of as the sassiest, wildest sister of the Bennet family. Harry is described as similar to Mr. Bingley, a popular man whose attentions are sought by many women – thus giving Kitty no real chance of having him fall in love with her. Draco is paralleled to Mr. Darcy, the initial antagonist of the story, though he eventually becomes far kinder and aids the main characters with various conflicts.

AN: I hope you all have continued to enjoy the story, and I'm _very _sorry that I've been taking so long to get these chapters out. I'm trying really hard, because I don't want to make you guys wait too long and lose interest, or get frustrated – but real life is a bitch sometimes, you know?

Anyway, let me know what you think!


	7. The Letters

**Chapter Seven: The Letters**

For several weeks, it was as though Harry vanished from outside life – or perhaps, for a while, actually _shunned_ such a life. He enjoyed his retreat – his escape from the outside world. He had time to think things over; had time to truly let facts sink in; and had time to build a solid, confident foundation for himself – with the emotional support of his friends, of course. For, after he had confessed his secrets to Ron and Ginny, he discovered that Ginny was surprised yet accepting, and Ron shocked and slightly unnerved; but both – perhaps with persuasion on Ron's part – showed him the same tolerance Hermione had.

Retreating from the mundane, redundant life of endless, empty balls, he preferred to stay in his home. He became lost in books, attempted to play the piano (though he was sure that many of the classical composers were rolling in their graves by the time he was through butchering their songs), sketched the beautiful scenery, or took long, philosophical walks. At one point, he even wrote to Sirius and Remus, inviting them to stay with him at the Potter Mansion, and mentioned that he had something important to tell them. He avoided thinking of his enemies, and instead entertained his friends.

Unfortunately, he was to be forced to leave his fortress – to allow himself to once again be vulnerable to social attacks from the enemy. One day, he received a letter from an apparently very popular man who politely requested his presence at a dinner party – a gathering that would result in him unwittingly meeting the man he most passionately hated. Even when oblivious, attending certainly wasn't something he longed for. He'd become fondly accustomed to his comforting life. However, he knew that he really had little choice in the matter. The invitation he'd received was to a very private dinner party being hosted by the same gentleman who was prominent in the culture of literature, and the same unfortunate circumstances that had inconvenienced Harry then still applied – that is to say, he very well knew that not going would be too rude and risky of a move.

Still, unknown to him, it turned out that the only reason the man was interested in inviting Harry into his home was because the man was easily entertained by commotion and fuss. He was like many other petty aristocrats, and enjoyed witnessing disagreements or social blunders so that he could be in the center of attention when it came time to gossip amongst his other noble associates. To him, hosting a fight between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter would give him desired attention in many balls and other such gatherings to come.

Of course, this meant that Draco Malfoy, sadly, would also have to be invited to the dinner party. Had Harry known, he simply would have refused to go – damn whoever happened to be insulted. Frankly, he hadn't missed seeing or thinking of that cold, obsessive bastard for the weeks he spent in his mansion. He certainly wasn't eager to begin again.

He didn't know, though – and so, after arriving at the host's home and entering the dining room, he initially obliviously enjoyed the other guests' company. He was made to make and return imitations of fine manners, and admired the room of golden chandeliers, golden framed portraits, and other overwhelmingly radiant items that cramped and stuffed the room with richness. He made an honest attempt at becoming comfortable, and – despite the empty seat across from him – didn't expect another guest; certainly not a guest whose very presence he would despise.

Imagine his surprise when, after he was seated and introduced to the other five guests, Draco Malfoy strolled into the room with the confidence of the devil himself. The two shared a surprised moment – a mutual understanding that both had been caught unaware and off guard – before both retreated, lowering their gazes for but a moment, in order to silently prepare their armor and their weapons.

For the first hour or so, they merely ignored each other. When the frivolous, pale-cheeked, chubby woman with her old-fashioned white wig asked Harry why he'd disappeared from society for those weeks on end, Draco refrained from commenting – though it was obvious that he was listening to Harry's answer very carefully. When a muscular fellow – a proud American, it seemed, from his accent – demanded Draco to speak of when he would write another novel, Harry refrained from commenting – though it was obvious that he, too, was listening to Draco's answer very carefully.

Eventually, they acknowledged each other's existence coldly. They openly, tensely stared at each other, eyeing the other warily. When Harry began to talk to the demanding American about Rudyard Kipling, Draco rolled his eyes a few times in response to Harry's interpretations. When Draco spoke of the beauty of France, Harry cleared his throat and shifted restlessly in his seat time and again, as though bored.

The host and the other guests seemed sorely disappointed that they'd gone through four courses, but still witnessed no violent and passionate argument between the two gentlemen. But, while they were getting impatient with the unsatisfying bits of cold, rude looks, they were to quickly learn that the long hours of wait would soon be satisfied.

"I hear you'll be hosting a ball soon, Mr. Malfoy," the host said politely.

"Yes – within a few weeks," Draco held the wine glass between his fingers stylishly.

"That ought to be enjoyable," the frivolous woman said, as though assuming that she would be invited. "The men and women you're around, Mr. Malfoy, are always so classy. Only the best of the higher classes ought to be there."

"The elite, if you will," Draco smirked. His gaze was swinging from the frivolous woman and back to the host – but it was interrupted by the stare being sent at him from across the table. It was an immediate challenge, and he held it – eyes narrowed – but within moments, his gaze softened as a thought struck him.

"You ought to come, Mr. Potter."

It was the first time for the night that either had addressed the other. Everyone at the table started, before the guests eagerly leaned in, waiting for Harry's response.

He took his time. He thought about the fact that he would be surrounded by only Draco Malfoy's followers: Parkinson, Bulstrode, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, and other men and women who would snootily eye Harry and whisper about him as he passed by. He would be verbally attacked time and again – perhaps even physically, if Draco's supporters managed to convince him to challenge Harry to a duel. To accept would mean knowingly placing himself into hell.

Harry had the choice of somehow evading directly answering Draco. For example, "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Malfoy," would have done nicely. It didn't hint at the fact that Harry had no intention of attending, and was perfectly polite.

However, Harry decided that he didn't want to evade Draco. Instead, he said calmly, slowly, and quite clearly, "No, Mr. Malfoy – I definitely rather not."

The stillness of the room was as overwhelming as the wealth. If a stranger were to walk in, he would assume that Harry had done something abrupt and unnecessarily rude – such as flung a piece of his bread at the man sitting opposite him, or perhaps even spat at him.

"I honestly wouldn't want to willingly spend anymore time with you than necessary," Harry continued with a small smile. "I believe I would eventually be driven into insanity by your callousness. So no – I most certainly don't think I'll be attending your ball."

The host cleared his throat, as though in an attempt to clear away the awkwardness. It stayed, though, like an unwelcome guest that sat himself up onto the center of the table. The guests stared at Harry, Draco most of all; but while the guests stared disbelievingly and unsurely, Draco stared coldly and furiously. He was very clearly insulted. The host immediately and excitedly began to picture how he would describe the situation in the many balls that were sure to come.

Within the next few silent moments, Harry – who'd had enough of polite society and fine manners for the night – asked if he could be excused for the evening. He courteously explained that he was exhausted, and had a long ride home to look forward to. "Surely, you understand," he smiled at the host.

The host nodded, still gaping; Harry politely placed his napkin down onto his empty plate, thanking the host and the other guests for their company, before stepping outside of the room. It was then that Draco – without asking to be excused – angrily followed.

"You bloody, ignorant fool!" Draco declared heatedly once he'd caught up with Harry in the hall. It was as though Harry almost expected the angry voice, and turned around in the dark hall smoothly.

"The same to you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry shook his head, pulling off his glasses and wiping them on the edge of his jacket calmly.

"What does _that _mean?" he demanded furiously. "In case you haven't noticed, _I'm _not the one who rudely declined – "

"A polite invitation that was an attempt at trapping me," Harry finished his statement, sliding his glasses back on. "Honestly, Mr. Malfoy: you oughtn't to expect anything less after doing such a thing. If you're finished – "

"The hell I am finished," Draco drew even nearer to the other. "It's clear that you haven't thought your actions through; if you had, then you would've refrained from doing such an impulsive thing. You would have realized that that you are directly affecting me as well." Harry sighed exasperatedly as he shouldered his way past Draco. "Word of this will reach my supporters," Draco called after the retreating figure. "They'll begin to insist that I challenge you to a duel!"

After the confrontation, Harry felt that he needed to speak to someone about what had happened. However, he didn't want to have Ron over, for he'd been feeling increasingly uncomfortable around him and his almost accusatory looks; and to invite Ginny but not Ron would be odd for him to do. Therefore, he refrained from sending a letter into London and instead quickly wrote one to be sent to the countryside.

Hermione gladly arrived, cheerful and expecting a regular, contented day; but by the time Harry was finished describing the events that had passed, Hermione became abhorred.

"Harry, do you _want _to duel that man?" Hermione asked, obviously upset.

"With anymore provocation – _yes_."

She frowned. "Harry, you'll be resisting him and his wishes if you refuse to duel with him. But agreeing to duel will pull you along in his plans."

"If I don't defend myself, then who will?" Harry asked irritably.

"_Many_," she said firmly, before sighing in utter frustration. "I simply can't believe you, Harry! You've come so far, yet you're so perfectly willing to throw everything away. Mr. Malfoy is a bastard, yes – "

"_Who deserves to be killed_ – "

"But, nonetheless, he's not worth risking your life for."

"Yet I must endure risking my reputation with him constantly. Who knows when I'll next see him, and what else he'll come up with? Perhaps he'll begin to use the fact that I'm an orphan against me. Or worst – perhaps he'll somehow learn that I'm homosexual."

"There's little chance of that."

"Yet a chance still exists."

Hermione decided that she didn't want to say anymore on the topic of Draco Malfoy, reputations, and duels; instead, she quickly changed the topic to one of friendly worry: "How have you been with that lately, by the way? With coping?"

"I've accepted it," Harry decided to start with the obvious, "and I'm happy you and Ginny have, too," he nodded. "But Ron…"

"He's learning," she smiled. "Don't worry. He tolerates you, but… He's just surprised. I mean… Harry, we all are. Don't get me wrong: we're glad that you told us. It would've been unfair of you to keep that from us, seeing that we really do care about you and your wellbeing. Ron, Ginny and I – we fully accept it, but we never expected it."

"Neither me," Harry shrugged. "But I'm used to it now, I suppose."

"I have to ask you, Harry," Hermione quirked her head in curiosity, "Have you ever considered… well, _being _with another man?"

Harry's expression completely blanked before he flushed in utter embarrassment. "_Hermione_!"

"Well, why not? You're an adult man – "

"Sure, but…" he sighed, clearly uncomfortable.

She smiled. "I guess you're not as used to the change as much as you thought you were."

"I've _thought _about it," Harry whispered decidedly. "And – _imagined_… you know, in dreams and daydreams…"

"What about in reality?"

"You're so persistent," Harry complained.

"I'm sorry," she glanced away. "It's just that… Ginny spoke to me, you know – about how she's afraid you'll really end up as a person with no love interests. Life like that – it probably gets rather lonely. We're _worried_. I mean, even if you can find a man to be with in _secret_…"

"You know that, in this society, secrets don't stay secrets for long. It's only a matter of time before Malfoy and his friends realize that I'm attracted to men. Why add to the scandal by actually _being _with men?"

"Oh, Harry…"

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," she carefully eyed him. "In any case, you ought to think about it."

As the days passed, something rather unexpected happened: he received a letter with fine handwriting from a signed Monsieur Draco Malfoy. Harry, though admittedly very curious, was initially very tempted to simply destroy it. Without a second thought, he tossed the letter he received on the desk, where it would await its fate in the fire that night. However, every time he happened to pass by the letter, Harry found that his curiosity built: what could Draco Malfoy possibly have to say to him? Besides, he could imagine Draco sneeringly declaring that Harry was cowardly avoiding him by refusing to read the letter.

Finally, when he could take it no longer, he sat down and tore it open; his eyes scanned only the first few sentences before, annoyed, he turned in his seat to pull parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill to him, completely ready to start his reply.

Draco was very obviously still infuriated with Harry for his behavior at the dinner party, and he claimed that Harry's rashness had cost Draco. After all, word had spread quickly, and once Draco's supporters had learned of Harry's insulting comments, they immediately suggested that Draco challenge the other. When he refused, they lost an ounce of respect for Draco – claimed that he was fearful, and wasn't willing to fight against men like Harry. Surely, Harry understood _why _Draco was frustrated with him. He even went as far as to demand an apology.

To Harry, this was a bit too supercilious and condescending for his tastes – and he told Draco so. He had no right to _demand _an apology, especially through a _letter _of all things. Had Draco been strong enough, then he would've demanded the apology face-to-face – though Harry made it clear that he wouldn't be given an apology in either circumstance.

Of course, Draco thought it was amusing that Harry would assume it was easy to simply travel hours across the countryside to a secluded mansion, only to be treated rudely by an uncouth host. Harry explained that he was only uncouth to those who were deserving of rudeness.

It was in this way that weeks of insults, received and returned, were maintained – before, after an elongated period, the letters slowly became more… _profound_.

They still held sarcastic and angry tones, but with the letters as a means of conversation, it seemed that they had more thoughtful conversations. For example:

"Mr. Malfoy, in case you haven't noticed, aristocracy is _dying_. Meritocracy is taking its place."

"Aristocracy isn't _dying_, but rather, being murdered by men such as yourself. You may make meritocracy seem to be noble and splendid; but the truth is, it's destroying the tradition of this – "

"Oh, with the tradition!" Harry cursed exasperatedly. "What is more important, Mr. Malfoy? A society of tradition or a society that can function? After all, if you have an inept child who will automatically be given more respect than a hardworking, brighter person of the lower class, then we – well, as a society, we won't get _anywhere_ if that person of the lower class is ignored."

They would practically write essays to one another, to the point that Harry's wrist was sore and his squinted eyes began to hurt. Yet they continued, from one topic to another:

"Politeness is nothing but fakeness; for if you and I were to meet and pretended to be polite to one another, it would be a waste!" Harry raved. "Everyone knows how much we detest each other. I much prefer openness."

"My nature prefers openness, I admit; but we don't have any choice but to be polite to one another publicly – "

"Yet you have no trouble pulling me to the side and acting boorishly."

"That's because it's _to the side_ – private. There's nothing wrong with us being rude to each other in private. In fact, it's necessary that we be rude to one another – in order to let out all of the frustration that's built up after forcing ourselves to remain polite."

"That's a relief," Harry wrote sarcastically. "Being a gentleman _does _get rather tiring, after all."

Months of such conversations and exchanges passed; it practically became a ritual for Harry to receive a letter every Sunday afternoon, and for him to write a reply. He slowly noticed that the letters, while they started out as enraged and disgusted, had become less and less furious and revolted. Instead, as the months passed, they eventually became merely sarcastic, witty discussions – as though they'd run out of passionately hateful things to say. As it had become tiring to be a gentleman, it had also become tiring to be an enraged, constantly hateful enemy.

It was strange that, if he ever thought about Draco Malfoy, he still thought of him as a rival, someone who he didn't trust and didn't like – but he was no longer the wretched enemy he once so passionately hated. He no longer felt violently hateful, or was to the point where he was perfectly willing to duel with the man. When he noted this to Draco, the other merely flippantly commented that, perhaps, neither were the type to hold grudges – though it seemed uncharacteristic for a man like _him _to say such a thing. Either way, both enjoyed the discussions, and Harry was careful not to say anything that Draco might use against him – so it seemed pointless to question the conversations and alleged changes.

"I don't think you understand how hard it is to be of the upper class," Draco once wrote. "You obviously don't understand the stress and the utter strength it takes to continue upholding perfect values. Having been born into a privileged position, I've been given certain responsibilities. One of those responsibilities is conforming to society, no matter what I personally feel. I admit that there are _many _sides to me that I must ignore in order to please the social order. It's difficult, more difficult than you can possibly imagine…"

"You might be surprised. I have no choice but to do the same, in some instances; but I can't help but question this. By conforming to society, we're ignoring our self-worth – "

"Don't be so selfish, Mr. Potter. Not everything is about _self. _Not everything is about the _Self_-Made Man, or _self_-respect, _self-_esteem, and _self-_worth. By revealing certain sides to you, you may insult _others_."

"Why should they matter?"

"Because if you're going to force your presence into this society, you might as well have the courtesy of respecting various rules of conduct."

"So you're willing to ignore your desires, your wishes – imprison your own needs – to satisfy others?" Harry shook his head. "And I'm expected to do the same."

"Of course," Draco wrote sneeringly. "What's wrong? I thought that you _wanted _to be a man of the higher classes."

Now, it shouldn't be mistaken that these letters became the highlight of Harry's life. They simply became a hobby, something he did in private. Publicly, however, many things occurred:

The best moment of these incidences was, perhaps, when Sirius and Remus surprisingly arrived at Potter Mansion. They stayed for four relaxing weeks, told Harry of the years they'd spent traveling Europe – from the Eiffel Tower, a standing giant in Paris; to gondolas on the canals of Venice; to the Cathedral of Santa Eulalia of Barcelona. They showed him the sketches, paintings, poetry, and short stories that had been inspired from such beautiful sights and spoke of the many the lovely people they met there. They insisted that, at some point in his life, Harry take a break from his goals and dreams and travel the world aimlessly and passionately as well. It was, in their opinion, something all men and women should do at one point in their lives.

When the time came for Harry to confess what he promised to say, he found that they were neither surprised nor disgusted. Instead, they wisely warned Harry of the ignorance often found in men and women; advised him that he ought to be careful about who he told, and who he trusted. When it came time for them leave, they wished him luck, and asked him to continue updating them on his affairs.

During the months, Harry was also happy to find that Ron became completely used to the idea that Harry wasn't heterosexual (with, apparently, the help of Hermione.) He even apologized for acting so awkwardly along Harry for such a long time, and – before long – the Potter Mansion became a regular meeting place for Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. They had what Hermione called "pseudo private parties" nearly every night. Harry was happy to release the pressures of society on those nights that always ended far too soon. If it was even possible, they became still closer friends.

One day, Hermione spoke to Harry about, perhaps, finding the listed relics. After all, she explained, if Harry waited too long, he might find himself interrupted and distracted from his goal once again. This was a large step, something that Harry had procrastinated in thinking about – but, at the same time, he realized that there was no point in waiting to find those last artifacts.

It would be hard, however; the artifacts, for all Harry knew, were literally scattered across the world. According to the list, there were seven that needed to be found: a ruby, a portrait, a journal, a vase, a ring, a bracelet, and a candle holder.

Unsure of where to start, Harry wrote a brief article, touching on his hardships and success, and asked for the help of the readers. He was perfectly willing to buy the artifacts, but needed to first know where to find them. He described them and wrote of the stories behind the relics. Colin eagerly published the article in Surrey's Weekly Reports.

The results were instant. Within days, an almost ancient, completely filled journal describing a man's journey through Asia arrived with a messenger. The messenger explained that the book had remained on the Browns' bookshelf for years, but they merely thought it was an old book. While it certainly held an interesting story of adventure, love, and passion, they'd never considered it valuable, and knew that it was, by far, more important to Harry than it was to them. They expected nothing in return.

Harry also received almost too many letters describing rumors of where the other artifacts were. Several letters insisted that the portrait of William Potter, painted by John Constable (1), was in a small Guildford art museum. Indeed, when Harry arrived, the painting had already been taken down and was awaiting him in the lobby. He was able to buy it for a reasonable price.

The candle holder was a bit harder to find, for there seemingly wasn't anything remarkable about it. It was bronze, and merely had the initials O.C.P. beneath it; however, it was the first candle holder Oscar Potter had created – the first in a long line of elaborate, gorgeously refined candle holders that would dramatically add to the family wealth. It had traveled from Surrey to Germany, through Austria-Hungary, and somehow into Russia – but, with the help of many, Harry was able to learn the owner's name and address. After the candle holder made its way back to Surrey, Harry began his searches for the ruby, vase, ring, and bracelet – unknowing that these four would be, by far, the hardest artifacts to obtain.

At first, he didn't understand why Draco would have the ruby or why Blaise Zabini would have the vase; but by the time he learned that Pansy Parkinson had the ring, and Millicent Bulstrode had the bracelet, he had already realized exactly _what _they were doing.

"Bastards, the lot of them," Ron declared angrily.

"It's like they have nothing better to do than to get in Harry's way," Ginny frowned.

Hermione was silently thinking to herself before she murmured, "We have to do something – something that will both punish them and force them to give Harry the artifacts."

"What do you suggest?" Harry quietly asked.

"I don't know," she sighed, still frowning.

"Let's blackmail them," Ron proposed casually.

Ginny, Harry, and Hermione stared openly at him.

He shrugged. "Why not? If we do enough digging, I'm sure that we can find their dirty little secrets – everyone has one," he glanced at Harry. "Even the most 'prestigious' and 'elite.' We can reveal that we know their secret and force them to give us the artifacts; and if they refuse, we'll release the information."

"That's so – callous," Hermione said.

"It's necessary," Ron smirked. "And it's the perfect way to get back at Malfoy, as well. What do you think, Harry?"

He thought it was a fine idea, and was especially eager to find Draco's secret. Privately, he imagined receiving the artifact from the blubbering, fearful man – only to release the information anyway, and watch as his reputation was destroyed.

He wasn't enraged; he was coldly numb – and _disgusted_. He'd received letters from Draco every Sunday after that event; but he tossed every single one into the fire without hesitation. It seemed that, every time he placed any ounce of trust in that man, Draco took it and viciously abused it. It appeared that he didn't care for others – Harry, least of all – and would never respect him. Harry was tired of being mistreated by the man, and honestly meant to completely cut off all contact with Draco.

However, Harry never expected Draco to actually persist so keenly that he would actually stop by for a visit. One day, as Harry was returning from a walk around the gardens, he happened upon Draco. He was waiting by the doors, seemed bored – as usual – and casually nodded his head to Harry as he approached.

"Hunting?" Draco asked casually, as though there was nothing strange about him randomly appearing at Harry's doorstep.

Harry completely ignored him, walked straight past him, and attempted to walk into the entrance hall of his mansion – but Draco tightly grabbed his arm before he could get any further.

"Mr. Potter – "

"I suggest that you let go of me – _immediately_." Draco's gaze narrowed as he did what he was commanded. Harry snatched his arm back and glared at the man for a few moments. "It would do you well to not forget yourself," he muttered as he turned back into the hall, "even if we're not in public."

"It wasn't my idea," Draco called after him.

Harry hesitated in closing the door. He turned to face Draco.

"They told me to – I didn't want to, but… you know, we've already spoken about conforming to society's wishes versus doing what we personally desire."

"You expect me to believe you so that I can invite you in," Harry said quietly, "and so that you can have a conversation with me – all the while privately laughing at me – "

"No, not – "

"Thinking that I'm a _fool_," he scowled. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I have disappointing news for you: not anymore; never again. Now get off my property," he said coldly. He moved to close the door before he thought better of it and added, "And stop sending me your blasted letters."

1: John Constable is a notable English-Romantic painter.

AN: I'm really sorry that some of you are getting impatient. XD I guess, since Harry and Draco's is a love/hate relationship, I would make sure plenty of _hate _got in first. But believe me: I've already written the next chapter, and so far it's my favorite for a _reason._ XDD So once again, I'm sorry; but if you can wait until the next chapter, I promise that you won't be _too _disappointed.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for all of the reviews! And special thanks to Astrid for helping me out. 333


	8. The Last Artifact

**Chapter Eight: The Last Artifact**

Harry soon found that "The Art of Blackmail," as Ron called it, was both a particularly nasty and difficult business. A lot of work would have to go into discovering the well-hidden offensive and revolting secrets of Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Draco Malfoy, and at first, they weren't entirely sure how to get this information – or how horrible the secrets had to be. The entire affair made Harry and Hermione feel rather uncomfortable, but Ginny and Ron didn't seem to mind as much – Ron especially. He even went as far as to suggest that he play the part of the innkeeper and judge which one of the secrets was the best. (1)

Neville Longbottom, Ernie Macmillan, and Cedric Diggory – after being told the situation and the plan – decided to work together to organize and find followers who might know appalling secrets. They promised Harry that he would have the artifacts within months, but Harry honestly didn't believe such a thing was possible until it had actually happened.

Neville was quick in finding that Oliver Wood had a story to tell about Blaise Zabini. Oliver, as a famous sportsman, was privileged enough to be invited to many prominent figure's homes. Blaise Zabini, as one of those prominent figures, often requested Oliver's presence – which he reluctantly fulfilled.

"I never liked that man," Oliver explained in Harry's sitting room. "He's… not really _fake_, necessarily; his stare – " he gestured to his eyes – "tells you exactly what he's thinking, you know? It's just that… it's like he knowingly makes you feel uncomfortable. He pretends to be polite in order to honor the fine manners of this society, but he really can't _stand _you – in my case, because I'm a huge supporter of you, Mr. Potter – and he makes sure you know he dislikes you, too."

Oh, Harry most definitely knew the feeling. He thought back on the night he attended the man's ball and fell victim to his coldly sarcastic gaze.

"Anyway, his family is pretty big in the sports industry – you know, when it comes to making and selling equipment – so I had no choice but to go to a few of his gatherings. But, to tell you the truth, I don't really like _anyone _who goes to his gatherings willingly. Snakes, the lot of them," he muttered. "Because I didn't really enjoy anyone's company, I was standing on the balcony, alone, waiting for a polite enough time to leave – when I heard the rustling of leaves. I looked down in the gardens below, only to see a girl – a servant, I think – running through the bushes. She had some nasty cuts, and she was limping. I have an eye for such things, being in some pretty nasty, rough sports. I was about to call out to her when she tripped on something, and next thing I know, he – Blaise Zabini – comes out from the bushes as well. At first, I was – _surprised_. I almost laughed, in fact! Can you imagine, Blaise Zabini marching through the bushes at his own ball?" He paused, shifting in his seat uncomfortably – as though he was embarrassed at what he was about the reveal. "But it was really no laughing manner. He began… _abusing _her. You know – in a _seriously _inappropriate fashion."

At this, Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised gazes. Blaise Zabini had forced such an image of perfect gentlemanly qualities that rape was certainly something neither expected. Theft, perhaps – maybe a minor crime he'd committed as a child – but never anything as serious as _rape_.

"I didn't know what to do," Oliver continued quickly, almost defensively. "I mean, I've never witnessed anything like… _that_ before – you know – and I didn't want to go yelling it about in a place full of his supporters. Can you imagine what they would do to me to make that sure I never told anyone? So I picked up a small rock that was on the side, wound up my throwing arm as best as I could, and hit him – right here," he turned in his seat, and pointed to the back of his head. "He went limp, so I guess he was either unconscious or stunned – and the girl was so scared, she didn't even look up at me; just ran away, as fast as she could… though she was still limping," he murmured. "I wish I had made sure she was all right, but I was so bewildered that I didn't feel comfortable staying there any longer. I immediately left and, after that, I've refused all invitations. I never thought to tell anyone before this," he murmured guiltily. "But I hope telling you now will help."

It did – there was no doubt about that. Hermione promptly wrote an anonymous letter to Blaise, explaining that – if he didn't return the vase to its proper owner – an article declaring that he was a rapist would be posted in the Surrey Weekly Reports. And, although they knew it wasn't their affair, Harry also convinced Hermione to add that the abused servant in question should be immediately released with enough money for her to survive on for at least a month. She described Cedric's story in full detail, and persuasively added that the Zabini family was so prominent and renowned – it would be a sad thing for his status to be completely destroyed within a week.

The next day, Harry found the ancient vase on his steps. They were all surprised at how simple it was to get it back. There was no proof that the servant was safe, but if it had been so easy to receive the vase, then they didn't doubt that Blaise would be too frightened to not immediately fulfill their request.

Within the same week, Neville had also managed to find Lavender Brown. According to her, she had some information on Millicent Bulstrode that she was very willing to expose.

"I have _never _met such an eager woman," she swiftly declared from her seat in the sitting room. "Eloise was telling me about her own account of that boorish woman just the other day. Apparently, Eloise saw – "

"Just your report, please," Hermione interrupted.

"Well," Lavender eyed Hermione, as though affronted, "_I _saw her at a ball about a month ago. She was blatantly flirting with a gentleman – Marcus Flint, I believe it was… though why any woman would want to be after such a raccoon is far beyond me." She suddenly giggled. "I thought up that description myself – I mean, have you ever seen his teeth? It looks like a raccoon's! Well, either way, I _happened_ to be near by, speaking with Susan – " it was obvious that she'd been eavesdropping – "and I heard her say exactly this: 'Mr. Flint, I find this ball boring. I think I'll be going into the gardens for an evening stroll. Won't you join me? I promise you, I'll show you something far more interesting than the roses.'"

"That's what she said?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"If not exactly, then very close," Lavender said, absolutely proud of herself for having heard such a thing. "I'm surprised you don't know more about her," she added to Hermione. "Even a hermit such as yourself must've heard _something _of the fact that she's constantly _all over men_, like some desperate _cow_."

Although the source was, in Hermione's judging eyes, a bit unreliable, the information worked against Millicent as well. While the bracelet didn't appear the following day, it came within a few days in a nicely wrapped box and a nastily sarcastic letter to Harry, declaring that only peasants such as himself would go to such lengths as _blackmailing_. Ron, with a grin, proudly took the credit.

Within a few short days, Harry received a note from Cedric Diggory, who claimed that he managed to find that the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati, both witnessed a story they could use to blackmail against Pansy.

"I believe you were there that night," Parvati said to Harry. "It was at Blaise Zabini's ball – do you remember? It was – almost a year ago, I think."

He nodded – that was the night of the interview.

"Well, Padma and I had been treated rudely by Ms. Parkinson that night. She's been especially rude to us, ever since she got engaged to that military man. I think that he's racist," she mentioned sadly. "That night, she sneeringly mentioned to us something about our dresses – I don't even remember what, now…"

"She said that they were so exotic that they, perhaps, ought to have stayed in India."

"Yes, it was something like that," Parvati nodded calmly to her sister. "Well, we were understandably upset. We've had to deal with such ignorant comments because of our culture and heritage before, but the sting never goes away. That night, we decided after about an hour or so that we would mention to Ms. Parkinson that we didn't appreciate her rudeness.

"We asked various people where she might be, and they all pointed us in the direction of private hallways. A servant directed us to a guest bedroom, and we knocked several times – but there was no answer. There was a muffled sound from within, however, so we decided to look inside. We never imagined that we would find Ms. Parkinson there with another man."

"The scandal isn't that she was with a man, doing such inappropriate things, however – although that_ is_ a disgrace in itself," Padma added. "The scandal is that she was with a man who wasn't her fiancé."

_That_ was certainly enough information to force Pansy into having an intimidated servant deliver the ring within days.

"It's so ironic," Ron smirked to himself as Harry examined the ring. "These men and women constantly pretend to be perfect citizens of a refined culture, yet they're the ones found in the worst possible scandals – scandals related to sexual relations."

"And, because they pretend to be so sophisticated, their scandals become all the more shameful," Hermione murmured.

"Funny, ain't it?" Ron grinned; but Harry didn't think it was as amusing. Part of him couldn't help but think that he was just as hypocritical. After all, he could condemn the insincere men and women who preached fine manners while raping others, being overly eager, and betraying fiancés – but in the end, wasn't he also a man of disgrace? While he'd come to accept himself, it was a fact that society found homosexuality a heinous crime.

Finally, it came time to blackmail Draco Malfoy. All were very eager to learn the man's secret, for they all saw him as the ringleader of Harry's misery. However, they were unfortunately disappointed to find that his secret was the most difficult to discover. Cedric declared that it was far too ironic that the man who was worst of all of Harry's enemies was the only one who seemed to really uphold to society's rules. Even Neville seemed unable to find anything on the man's record and background.

It was when weeks passed and it seemed impossible that they would ever get the necessary information on Draco that Ernie suggested that he actually go to the man's mansion and speak with one of his servants. "Servants always know their master's secrets, after all."

Pretending to pay Draco an unexpected visit (though Draco was undoubtedly suspicious), Ernie managed to learn from the servant that Draco, perhaps, had the most disgraceful secret of all. She was asked to slip away and visit the Potter Mansion at a certain time.

When she did arrive, she was initially fearful and concerned about what would happen to her if Draco was to find that she'd revealed him to his enemies. But, with Hermione's gentle yet convincing arguments for Harry and the Self-Made Man, she was eventually made to feel as though it was her duty to expose her master. Once this was done, there was no more hesitation as she declared his secrets.

"In and out, in and out – men are constantly coming and going," she claimed, looking around earnestly. "Rich men, like a book-writer or a painter, visit in the middle of the night – and sometimes, younger boys who look like they have no business in my master's mansion come, too. He keeps it well-hidden enough, but sometimes – if you go out of your way to listen – you can hear their… _sins_. I would say that my master loves men – probably more than I love 'em."

Harry exchanged gazes with his closer friends. He was too stunned to notice Neville, Cedric, and Ernie's excitement as they wanted to blackmail Draco Malfoy _immediately_ – and Ernie even suggested what Harry had earlier planned: to use the information to get the ruby and then go public with it anyway. Ron too, pulled Harry to the side and said, "It doesn't matter that you're homosexual, Harry; this is a great chance to get _back _at him."

But Ginny and Hermione were more compassionate. They sensed that, to blackmail Draco when they shared the same secret, would make him feel immensely hypocritical and add to his feeling of being unethical. They kindly made up an excuse for him as to why he didn't want to immediately blackmail Draco with the information.

He really just need time to cope with the new information. It was as though he'd been isolated since birth because of the branded mark of Cain (2) that no one understood and everyone feared; and, suddenly, he found the one other man in the world that was branded with the same mark. It was painfully and mockingly ironic that the man be the same who'd gone out of his way to hurt Harry time and again. And yet – he was almost desperately curious to learn more and to confirm that he truly wasn't the only sufferer of this mark in the world.

It took Harry only a day to arrive at the Malfoy Mansion. It was a gloomy, dark place – with gothic walls and tall, thin windows. He nervously went to the door, which was answered by the same servant who had confessed Malfoy's secret. She was extraordinarily surprised, and as she let Harry in, she stared at him – as though imagining that he would be like the previous men who had come and gone.

"Mr. Malfoy'll be will you shortly," she murmured, disappearing down the halls.

Harry waited only a few moments before Draco came around the hall quickly, as though he'd raced to see if it was true. Once he sighted Harry, he stopped before walking overly slowly – almost suspiciously.

"What're you doing here?"

Harry shrugged, seeing the servant stand from behind the wall, still watching them. Draco followed Harry's gaze and dismissed the girl.

"Come," he gestured to Harry. "I'll have us brought tea."

"That's quite all right," Harry said quickly. "I won't be here for long."

"Yes, you will be; we have a lot to discuss, I'm sure," Draco had yet to take his gaze away. They went to the sitting room, where they sat down across from one another. Harry had a sudden sense of déjà vu: he felt as though he had returned to Blaise Zabini's sitting room, and was moments from an interview – except this time, he was the one to do the questioning.

"I've been wondering what you were doing to have Blaise, Pansy, and Millicent give up each of the artifacts to you. Now, I guess I'm about to find out," Draco smirked.

"We were sending letters," Harry explained shortly. "Letters revealing that we knew some secrets of theirs."

"You've been _blackmailing _them?" Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I didn't know you had it in you. So, what – you've come to find my secret, now?"

"No," Harry took a deep breath. "We already know your secret, Mr. Malfoy – that you're a homosexual."

At that moment, the woman servant came in with a silver platter of cups and tea. She interrupted the stare that had connected Harry and Draco by placing the things on the low, glass table with a clatter. Leaving the cup of sugar on the table, she bowed to both of them before quitting the room again.

"How?" he asked unblinkingly.

"That doesn't really matter," Harry said quietly.

Draco sighed and leaned back into his seat. "I don't know what to say."

"I don't, either," Harry confessed.

"I'm finished," he mumbled, folding his arms. "My status – everything."

"Maybe not so."

He glanced at Harry before smirking tiredly. "The ruby, is that it? Is that all you truly want? After I've gone out of my way to ruin you constantly, endlessly – and now that you can return the favor ruthlessly – all you want is a family _relic_?"

He didn't answer.

"Are you disgusted, Mr. Potter?"

He shook his head and tenderly took a sip of the hot tea.

"I want to tell you something," he said suddenly, interrupting the silence. "A story – it's my favorite story, so listen well. It's of Fredrick II, King of Prussia – "

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry frowned, "I don't think – "

"Just listen," Draco commanded. "You certainly have enough time and, if you tried, enough patience." He continued, as though he was never interrupted, "He's also known as Fredrick the Great, and certainly became a great man, worthy of reverence and respect. However, not many people know of the trials he had to endure in order to become the man he was to rule as.

"Fredrick was born to the Soldier-King – a man so cruel that he would strike his son repeatedly in public simply to humiliate him. He kicked women in the streets and hit others with his cane brutally, declaring that it was his religious right as king.

"By the time he was 16, Fredrick became – _infatuated _with his father's 17-year-old page, Peter Christopher Keith. It's been said that they became inseparable, and probably had an intimate relationship. Fredrick's sister mentioned that they were, perhaps, more friendly than they should have been. I suppose hiding such a close relationship was impossible, for Fredrick's father soon exiled Peter, despite Fredrick's pleading. Personally, I feel that his father believed that his son shouldn't be happy with another person, whether male or female – that he should grow a cold heart if he was to be king.

"A squire of Wust – Hans Hermann von Katte, a 22-year-old man – perhaps felt sorry that Fredrick had to lose his close friend because of his father's abusive nature. Before long, they became close friends who were intensely in love. They shared the same interests, and spoke of various things – like French culture, for instance, and classical music – everyday, and well into the night. Really, I doubt that theirs was a purely platonic relationship. As best friends and intimate lovers, I suppose that Fredrick often confided to Hans about his sufferings caused by his father, for that same year, Hans and Fredrick plotted to flee the Soldier-King from Prussia to England. Had they known that it would end in such tragedy, I doubt that they would have ever left. They were caught during their escape, and the two were arrested. They were accused of treason.

"Fredrick's father almost allowed his son to be executed – he was that enraged. He thought that Fredrick and Hans meant to plot with Great Britain against Prussia. He didn't have Fredrick beheaded, though; instead, Fredrick was forced to witness Hans' execution.

"His father didn't care that his son suffered greatly from the tragic experience. He had the boy imprisoned for a year, and would only be released if he agreed to marry a woman who he did not love. He was depressed beyond reason, to the point where he often considered suicide. I doubt that he would ever had recovered hadn't it been for the two men who saved him. With Lieutenant Count von Keyserling and Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, Fredrick started two loving relationships. Voltaire himself once wrote of Michael as a soldier – young, handsome, well made, and talented with the flute – who 'served to entertain the prisoner in more than one way.'

"Fredrick obviously loved these men. They were two of his longest relationships, and because of them, he was the happiest he was in years. Unfortunately, he was still forced to marry the woman he did not love in order to become the heir to the throne."

Harry stared across the sitting room at Draco, listening carefully – finally realizing that, perhaps, the story was Draco's favorite because he could relate to it in various ways: perhaps he'd lost his own lovers growing up, and had come to a drastic point of depression, as Fredrick the Great had. It was moving in a strange sense, and Harry suddenly felt the overwhelming need to admit to Draco that he, too, was homosexual. Before this could happen, however, Draco continued with a soft sigh:

"It's a good thing he decided to marry the woman, don't you agree? If he hadn't, then he wouldn't have become the King of Prussia – or one of the greatest leaders in the world. I think it was a relatively small price to pay. What do you think, Mr. Potter?" Draco asked.

"I can see why it's your favorite," Harry said quietly.

"You're the first person I've ever admitted this to," he suddenly confessed. "I've never told anyone what my favorite tale is. I've studied carpe diem poems, metaphysical poetry, ballads and sonnets – epic tales such as _Beowulf_ and classic stories such as _The Canterbury Tales _– and yet my favorite story is not a novel, written by a contemporary author like Oscar Wilde … or a play by an anonymous scop. It's a historical story based on a dead, homosexual man."

He seemed so tired and sad, all of a sudden. He left the tea alone, and instead stared at the floor. "The ruby, then?"

"What?"

"Do you want the ruby or not?"

"Of course I want it."

"I'll give it to you before you leave," Draco murmured. "Should I be expecting my private life to be somehow broadcasted within the next few days?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I won't let you be exposed."

"I don't want you to pity me."

"I don't," Harry muttered.

"Then you probably think that I deserve this – _disease._"

"It's not a disease," Harry said, despite himself.

"It might as well be. It's the one part of me that I simply cannot hide away. It's somehow managed to stay a secret for so long, but this was bound to happen eventually."

"I have a question," Harry broke unexpectedly. Draco glanced at him. He cleared his throat before asking hesitantly, "How do you meet others?"

"Other what? Homosexuals?"

Harry nodded. "If this is your secret life – and theirs is a secret life as well – how do you know?"

"Sometimes, you have a feeling," Draco watched Harry closely, held his gaze. "It might be a particular look you exchange with another – or something they say. Why?"

Harry had the strange sense that he felt as though he was watching himself have the conversation – and the fear that he was moments away from impulsively making the worst decision of his life. He even remembered Remus and Sirius' cautioning words, warning Harry of who to trust with the information. But still, he could not stop as he listened to himself murmur, "I'm sure you've realized why by now, then."

"I was right after all," Draco smirked. "This truly is ironic."

"You understand now why I don't want to go public with the information; I trust that you'll respect me in the same fashion."

"You _are _a very trusting man."

"Mr. Malfoy – "

"Of course I won't tell anyone," he muttered. "How could I? I would have to admit that we have a friendly relationship, and I certainly can't do that. It would ruin me."

"Is that what we have?" Harry mumbled sarcastically.

"Well, it certainly isn't as hateful as it used to be."

"You know, I – " Harry suddenly frowned. "This is a lot of information for one day. I think I ought to leave."

"No," Draco commanded. "Stay. I don't want to spend the rest of my night lying in bed, thinking about what I _should _have said to you."

Harry took a deep, calming breath.

"You oughtn't to be nervous, either," Draco said reasonably. "It's just that – I never really had anyone to talk to about this. Mainly, all of the men I know just want to come, head straight to the bedroom, and get on with it – most ironically think that it would be too inappropriate to discuss our – well – inappropriateness. But… well, I've always wanted to know more about how _others _feel about this, you understand. I'm curious, is all."

"So I suppose you think that I'm the right man for this?" Harry gave him an odd look.

"You're certainly better than nothing. And besides – you can't pretend that you're not curious yourself."

Perhaps it was for the best after all. Harry had conversations with Hermione about homosexuality in the past, but it never truly felt like a _discussion_, for he knew that she didn't completely understand what he was going through. "Fine; what do you want to know, then?"

"Anything. You can start with when you first learned you were."

Harry flushed slightly and looked away. "Actually, I figured it out after you accused me of it."

Draco stared plainly at Harry. "You're jesting."

"I'm not."

Draco peered at Harry unbelievingly. "You mean to tell me that you had _no idea _until I – ?" He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and grasped his hands together. "Harry, are you _inept_?"

Harry was slowly growing with frustration created by embarrassment. "Certainly not. I can't help it if I was taught that men ought to be attracted to women."

"And were you ever attracted to women?"

"Well – no, but – "

He sneered and shook his head. "You're ridiculous. I suppose this means that you're still quite lonely, since you've had such a late… _epiphany_."

"Lonely?" Harry echoed.

"Yes, lonely – as in alone; devoid of partners… without any lovers," Draco added casually.

"I – well, haven't even really thought about that, actually. I mean – truthfully," he looked up at Draco, "I don't even know – you know… _how_…"

Draco's brow rose as he said sarcastically, "Goodness, that's a problem."

He looked away once again.

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough," Draco murmured. "Are there anymore naïve questions?"

Harry sighed impatiently. "You're not very helpful."

Draco smirked. "Would you _like _for me to explain?"

"I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" he repeated. "Well, it's rather easy: it's either yes or no." When Harry didn't answer, Draco asked mockingly, "If you're really so embarrassed, would you like me to use the language of flowers (3) to explain?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's all right. It's like you said: I'll eventually learn for myself."

Draco eyed Harry expressionlessly. There was a moment of silence before he politely asked, "Are you planning on telling anyone, then?"

"Yes, I've already told a few of my closer friends."

"The peasants and the opinionated hermit?" Draco smirked.

Harry gave him look of warning that, apparently, Draco took with slight caution.

"Well, are you going to tell anyone else? The general public?"

"Tell the general public?" Harry repeated, as though it was foreign concept. "Certainly not."

"Honestly?" Draco was slightly surprised. "Where are your arguments for self-worth?"

Harry glanced away with a slight shrug. "This is a different situation."

"How is it different? You're conforming to society by hiding yourself."

"I don't have a choice in this case," he frowned. "I'm an icon to many: men and women of the lower classes – even some of the higher classes. To throw all of that away would be… selfish. But what about you? You can afford to live for your desires, can't you? You've been conforming and hiding yourself away for years. Aren't you – tired? Tired of pleasing others?"

Draco frowned. "If I was tired now, I wouldn't be any less tired as an abused, disrespected, battered homosexual."

"Yet you would have – for once – pleased yourself."

"Yes; now the question is whether satisfaction would be worth the problems that come along with it."

"I believe it would be," Harry nodded. "After all, when you're on your deathbed, thinking about your life, it's only you that will be lying there – only you that can either feel fulfilled and satisfied or wasted and useless. The entirety of British society will be nowhere to be found."

Draco seemed to actually take this in for a moment – contemplated Harry's words, before he stood from his seat and murmured, "And – speaking of satisfaction," he turned leaving the room, while adding over his shoulder, "Wait here for a moment, please."

When Draco reentered the room, he was cradling a piece of ruby in the palm of his hand. He stopped beside Harry and extended his hand calmly, as though he was merely offering Harry a cup of sugar – and not symbolically admitting that he'd lost.

Harry took it gratefully, most definitely realizing that – now that he had the ruby in his hand – it was over. He'd accomplished everything he set out to do; yet his feeling was complex. It wasn't complete elation. It was tiredness, almost laced with sadness – and a sense of insecurity.

"Congratulations," Draco murmured. "The Self-Made Man is a success after all."

1: The innkeeper Ron speaks of refers to _The Canterbury Tales_, where the innkeeper at Southwark proposes to the pilgrims that they have a competition to tell the best stories in order to keep themselves entertained. The innkeeper, as suggested, was to be the judge.

2. The mark of Cain: Cain, the firstborn of Adam and Eve, was marked by God. This mark has many interpretations, but the one used in context is the version where the mark is cursed.

3: The language of the flowers: flowers were used as coded communication, allowing people to discuss matters that were deemed inappropriate. For example, an orange rose means, "You are my secret love," while a yellow rose means, "I am not worthy of your love."

AN: Happy Holidays, everyone! And thanks for the _huge_ amount of support. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and hope you look forward to the next as well.


	9. The Secret Society

**Chapter Nine: The Secret Society**

The scientific world was aroused in January as Wilheim Rontgen discovered a type of radiation, allowing the first X-ray machine to be invented. Artists flocked to Paris to see Oscar Wilde's premiere of _Salome_; and for the rest of the month of February, it was all the critics could speak of. During the first week of April, the first Summer Olympics since the days of ancient Greece came and went, bringing excitement among athletes. Obviously, the first few months of the New Year were exhilarating for society; for Harry, it was exhilarating to a point near exhaustion.

Since his victory, Harry was overwhelmed with invitations to admirable house parties and crowded balls where, at times, he was practically put on a pedestal. Articles describing his social battle from the bottom to the top were featured in newspapers – and not only in Surrey, but seemingly from London to Durham as well. An endless stream of letters declaring congratulations, too, made its way to Harry – its flow hadn't stopped even as the months came and went! – and in the streets, he was treated as a celebrity by both the lower and upper classes. He was invited to join a number of different elitist clubs. Men and women he didn't even know introduced themselves to him as though they were hoping that he would consider them close friends. He was told that he had become very popular among unmarried women – apparently, they found his disheveled hair and round glasses _charming_. According to many, he was officially one of the most popular men in Surrey, if not _the _most popular.

However, despite the crowds of smiling faces, it quickly became clear that these strangers merely wanted to bask in Harry's bright glory and abandon him once they were satisfied. What's more, it was obvious that these people only cared that he was the victor. They didn't care about what he was the victor _of _– cared not about the social war Harry had fought, or the politics of the individual battles.

Understandably, Harry found this bombardment of intensely insincere attention intimidating – especially since he was actually, by nature, a rather shy and modest man. Honestly, he preferred to celebrate his triumphant success with his closer friends in the privacy of his home. There, he wasn't assaulted by an onslaught of strangers. There were no extravagant decorations or a need for lacy gowns or uncomfortable suits. They could act like drunken fools without minding the fine manners of society – and Harry could simply be himself without having to worry about destroying his reputation.

Sometimes, his allies also came by for tea – specifically, the ones who had been part of the Blackmailing Ploy. Frankly, however, Harry – though genuinely grateful for their assistance – didn't like it when they came, for they had a habit of interrogating him; when they interrogated him, Ron joined them; and when Ron began to question him, Hermione and Ginny would look on with too much curiosity and not enough interference.

"Why won't you allow us to expose Draco Malfoy?" was really the only question they ever asked. When he didn't offer an adequate explanation, they assumed that Harry was somehow afraid of Draco or was intimidated into silence, which angered them – especially Ron.

"This is _Draco Malfoy_, Harry! The man who betrayed your trust and slandered you by writing The Self-Made Horse; the man who attempted to destroy your reputation by claiming that you're homosexual – "

"Ron, I _am _homosexual," Harry muttered.

"That's completely beside the point!" he would say, completely oblivious and naïve to the fact that, for Harry, that was _exactly_ the point. "He's taken your trust time and again and completely destroyed it by trying to _ruin _you. Now, you have the chance to ruin _him_! How could you _not _take the opportunity?"

Apparently, even if Harry didn't want to witness Draco's downfall, _they _did – and couldn't understand why he didn't want to also. Even the sensitive Hermione and Ginny were bewildered with his sudden change of attitude towards the man. To Harry's friends, destroying Draco's status was what should truly grant Harry closure – _really _add to his success. After all, his conflict started with Draco Malfoy – why shouldn't it end with Draco Malfoy as well?

Now, all of those who were involved swore to Harry that they wouldn't betray his trust and reveal Draco's secret; but at the same time, they felt that Harry owed them an explanation. He couldn't give it, however. He was too humiliated to admit why he needed to protect Draco's secret.

Truthfully, he felt almost desperate whenever he thought about exposing Draco – as though destroying the only other man with the mark of Cain would only prove to destroy Harry as well. He was trapped behind confining walls of ignorance; Draco Malfoy, to him, was a gateway towards a better understanding of himself and his own nature. If he helped to destroy Draco, he felt that the gate would be forever locked against him. In addition, he felt strangely alive because Draco Malfoy knew his secret. He felt more real when another man – rival though he may be – could relate to him, and shared his qualities. As strange as it sounds, when only Hermione, Ron, and Ginny knew, he sometimes wondered if his homosexuality was just an imagined condition. By exposing himself to Draco, he was confirming that it was, indeed, true. Impulsive – yes, he quietly admitted to himself, he had been irrationally impulsive when he confessed his secret to Draco; but he didn't regret it any less.

He hadn't told any of his friends about the specifics of the conversation he'd had with Draco – _most definitely _hadn't told them that he revealed his secret to the man. After all, they would infallibly think him a fool for trusting his adversary _yet_ _again_ – especially after the man treated Harry so cruelly.

He was afraid that they would begin to suspect that the two had come to an almost polite understanding, seeing that it was really all he could think of. Surely, it would eventually emerge that Harry was curious and thirsted for another profound conversation with the man – so much, in fact, that he would often find himself thinking about Draco even during the most inappropriate times. It was as though the thought of him was unavoidably irresistible.

Indeed, even during conversations he would stop paying attention as he began thinking of Draco Malfoy:

"Harry, are you even listening to me?" Hermione asked impatiently, interrupting his private, quiet reflections.

"Of course not," he muttered tiredly, gazing out of his open balcony windows.

"Come on, now, this is very important," she insisted firmly, joining him by his side.

"It's not _that _important," Ron muttered from one of the sofas, flipping absently through a literary magazine as he counted the number of times Harry's name was mentioned in the articles. "It's just a club."

"It's more than just a club, Ron – it's a place where great men of the upper classes gather. This is a wonderful opportunity for Harry, if he'll take the invitation."

"Why do I need anymore _wonderful opportunities_?" he muttered, clearly exasperated. "I've won! Everyone thinks so. It's been that way for months now."

"Don't get too arrogant, Harry," Hermione warned. "If you let yourself believe that you can merely ignore society and remain in a respected position, then you'll be very surprised when you're quickly forgotten, perhaps even unpopular – "

"How can he become unpopular?" Ron asked, clearly as irritated as Harry.

"If someone becomes absent from society, disastrous false rumors and scandals have been known to take their place," Hermione clarified. "And you, Harry," she turned back to him, "are most certainly not going to allow something like that to happen, especially after everyone has worked so hard."

"All right – fine. Just as long as I won't be expected to go too often," Harry said, not wanting to hear anymore of Hermione's opinions on the issue – and wanting to return to his thoughts on Draco Malfoy.

The Club of Gentleman (1) was located in a secluded and refined brick building in the upper side of London. There, many could relax in the garden with the bright sunlight, in a library where they could read from any novel of their choosing, or – of course – in the meeting hall, where many small, circular tables were surrounded by plump, grossly huge chairs. Harry could only assume that the chairs were so large because most of the members of the Club were, in fact, rather large themselves. "Everyone loves a fat man," they would say to each other before roaring in almost obnoxious laughter. Those who weren't laughing obnoxiously were smoking thick cigars and exchanging derisive stares through the heavy smoke. There were a group of men standing near a bookshelf heatedly debating an American Court decision (2) – something that Harry wasn't interested in listening to, much less joining.

It was safe to say that Harry felt uncomfortable from the very moment he stepped into the meeting hall. It didn't help that everyone was unfamiliar to him – or that several of the larger, more obnoxious men eagerly introduced themselves and began to loudly congratulate him on his not-so-recent achievements, as though hoping only to draw attention to themselves.

In that they were certainly successful, and Harry flushed as he became the main attraction. Within moments, the room became silent. Men from the chairs strained their thick necks to get a better look, men tapped their cigar's gray ash into a small tray, and impassioned men had their attention drawn from their debate. They all looked to him, inspected him, and failed to hide their opinions of him.

"I knew I smelled something foul."

The statement may have been private, but in the silence, it rang clearly throughout the room. Harry turned to see who had made it, and tensed when he saw Blaise Zabini emerge from a private corner of the room – a corner that seemed to be reserved for the most elite. From this corner also stood Theodore Nott and, Harry noticed with caught breath, a very bored Draco Malfoy. When he saw Harry, there was really only a slight flicker of interest – but overall, he merely seemed impatient to leave the Club and perhaps return to the Malfoy Manor.

"It seems they let anyone into clubs these days – even peasants," Blaise continued haughtily as he began to move across the room. He glared at Harry as he passed by, but Harry merely returned the glare indifferently as he watched Blaise leave the room, quickly followed by Theodore. Draco, too, began to walk out – though Harry truly wanted to somehow prevent him from doing so. As soon as he stepped outside of the room, Harry moved to follow him out, but was stopped as a large man clapped his large paw on Harry's shoulder.

"Don't mind them, good sir," he boomed after the door closed behind them. "You're perfectly welcome here, Mr. Potter – in fact, we're honored that you're here. Isn't that right, gentlemen?"

A short, polite and apparently obligatory applause rang through the crowd. Harry awkwardly smiled and quickly thanked them – though, really, he was focusing only on being able to leave the room as soon as possible, wanting to get to Draco before he left. Once attention was taken off of him for the briefest moment, he quickly slipped out of the meeting hall and into another corridor, hurriedly walking towards the exit, afraid that – by then – Draco was already in his hansom and well on his way home.

"Mr. Potter – leaving already?"

He jumped and turned, startled. Standing not too far away and with half of his face covered in shadows, Draco leaned against a wall with his arms folded.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said in surprise.

"I didn't think you would be out so soon – another half an hour, at the very least," Draco said. "Well, that's better for me, I suppose. Come on – this way." He gestured for Harry to follow him down the hall and into a private, small, and very abandoned room.

"I didn't know you were invited to join," he drawled, standing in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets. It took Harry a moment to realize that he was speaking of the Club.

"I didn't want to accept," he shrugged, trying to act as though he was calm – though this was very far from the truth. The pounding echo of his heartbeat in his ears was evidence enough. "I was given very little choice."

"It probably would've been best for you not to," Draco muttered. "You're bound to cause even more dispute, which people will quickly become bored and irritated with."

"Are you asking me to quit?"

"Not at all. Merely offering my opinions on the matter. Sorry about the walk out, by the way," Draco added flippantly, probably not meaning it at all. "Hadn't any choice, you know – "

"That's fine," Harry quickly dismissed it. "Did you want to speak to me about something?"

Draco smirked at Harry's eagerness. "As a matter of fact, yes – but before I get to the point, I would like to explain myself so that I don't seem so abrupt. Several times a year, I'm visited by various gentlemen – acquaintances, if you will. They tend to visit for some weeks – and during that time, we act rather… openly," he hesitated, obviously choosing his words carefully. "You obviously don't have to participate, but because of the nature of most of our discussions, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity for you to learn more about your qualities. After all, you seemed rather _curious _the last time we spoke…"

"Mr. Malfoy, are you inviting me?"

"Really, Mr. Potter, it's nothing to look so bloody wound-up about. It's just a private affair, really – not too exciting unless you plan to make the most of the situation."

At that, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced about the room. "I suppose it really wouldn't be a very exciting affair, then."

Draco sneered; and, apparently, he took that for a polite declination, for he began to turn away from Harry – as though with the intent to leave. Before he could take another step, however, Harry cleared his throat again, successfully getting Draco's attention.

"Then again," he murmured quickly, "I suppose it could be rather… enlightening."

Almost pleasantly surprised, Draco nodded, "Very well, then. Feel free to come to my mansion any day during the following week, and prepare to stay for at least three days." With that, he tipped his head to Harry politely before he took his leave.

Harry didn't tell anything of this to Hermione, Ron, or Ginny of course. He was far too embarrassed to mention it to them – partly because it was an affair for homosexual men and mostly because Draco would be the host. For him, they were his closest friends – but they would never be able to understand or relate to _this _part of him. They accepted it – tolerated it – but could never be a part of it. Instead, he reserved the position of understanding for Draco Malfoy.

The Malfoy Manor was as dark and mysterious as ever; nothing had changed, save for the fact that Harry felt more nervous then than he had during his previous visit. The same female servant that had betrayed Draco answered Harry's knocking, and when she opened the heavy doors, it was immediately obvious to Harry that he wasn't the first man she welcomed into the mansion that evening. She looked at him with obvious aghast shock; and as she told Harry that his baggage would be taken to one of the many guest rooms, she stared at him and eyed him in a way that many servants wouldn't dare. Guiding him down the halls, she kept glancing at him unsurely before they reached the sitting room, where she politely bowed herself out.

Harry was right: he wasn't the first to arrive. Draco's two other guests sat by side by side and stared at Harry frankly – stared in such a way that made him hesitate at the door uneasily. They said nothing; but then again, it seemed that they didn't need to. Their point – whether they were trying to make it or not – instantly rang clear through their demeanor: they did not like Harry Potter, and they certainly did not appreciate the fact that he was there. Honestly, Harry wasn't sure why he was receiving such a hostile welcome from the two strangers, but it was most probable that they were allies to traditional society. If that was so, then the Self-Made Man surely would never be welcomed in their presence.

"Mr. Potter," Draco said, "I hope you don't plan on standing there all day. Please – sit."

Harry cleared his throat as he took the only empty seat opposite Draco.

"This is Pucey and Urquhart," Draco nodded his head in the direction of each man respectively. They both had dark features, though Urquhart looked considerably younger – perhaps because his glare wasn't as deep as Pucey's. "Before you get too comfortable, however," Draco continued, "I would like to warn you of something I should have while initially inviting you. Mr. Potter, from this moment on, you've entered a… a _secret society _of sorts."

Harry glanced at Pucey and Urquhart, bewildered, before returning his puzzled gaze back to Draco.

"Don't look so anxious," Draco sneered. "It's not a _real _secret society. It's just a way of describing this meeting of ours: more to the point, it's completely a _secret_. You're not to mention anything of it – or of the other members. If you do, you'll put all of us at risk. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, and this seemed to be enough for Draco; but from Pucey and Urquhart's suspicious glares, it seemed that they certainly didn't trust his word. During the silence that followed, Harry had difficulty sitting still and acting calm under their hard stares. Indeed, even Draco noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere, though he did nothing of it or said anything to interrupt it.

"So," Pucey suddenly said with a deep, stiff voice, "this is the great Self-Made Man I've heard so much of." For a moment, he merely eyed Harry. "They say you're charming – and a master hypocrite of sorts."

Harry raised an eyebrow before saying smoothly, "My dear fellow, you forget that we're in the native land of the hypocrite (3)." This earned an unexpected, quiet laugh from Draco.

Pucey and Urquhart, however, didn't find this as amusing. "I hear that you were involved in several blackmailing scandals."

"Rumors that, unsurprisingly, are popular only among bitter traditionalists," Harry looked from Pucey to Urquhart.

After a brief interval of silence, Urquhart turned to Pucey and Draco – it was obvious that he didn't wish to include Harry in the conversation – and said, "Speaking of rumors – I've heard several that there may be a _real _homosexual secret society (4)."

"I've heard the same from several gentlemen in Paris," Pucey said, also clearly addressing only Draco and his partner. "I would never join if extended an invitation, however."

"Why is that?"

"I've lived in this civilization for nearly forty years, sir, and after nearly forty years of observation, I've come to realize that secrets have a nasty habit of becoming everyone's business. I'm certain that, someday, everyone will have learned of our preferences some way or the other. Joining a secret society will merely quicken that process."

"That's a rather cynical attitude," Draco said.

"You're one to speak," Urquhart nearly laughed. "You, the very man who said that Oscar Wilde deserves to be imprisoned after writing such a piece of self-incriminating literature."

"I have nothing but respect for the man," Draco said firmly. "He's talented and witty – and a brilliant writer, there's no doubt about that. It's really just that _The Picture of Dorian Gray _was a mistake and never should have been written."

"I suppose he was merely proud of his quality."

"I suppose that could be true, sir; but now, his pride has proven to take nearly everything he has owned – including his freedom and dignity." (5)

"His references were rather interesting, though," Pucey interrupted their back-and-forth. "To Greek love, for example – and for Dorian's character in general. I wouldn't mind meeting such an interesting young man," he said politely, though Harry could sense a leer behind the smile.

"I certainly wouldn't like to," Draco smirked. "His friendships were described as fatal to other's reputations. Can you imagine, sir, a young man who would seduce you without a care for keeping your secret as it is? Thankfully, I've yet to come across such a person."

At that, Pucey and Urquhart glanced at Harry before exchanging looks, as though to say that they, perhaps, thought that Harry would indeed prove to be such a person. Affronted, he sighed heavily and shifted in his seat.

"I hope we're not boring you, Mr. Potter," Draco said, noticing his sigh.

"Not at all," Harry said quickly.

"Perhaps Mr. Potter simply didn't enjoy _The Picture of Dorian Gray_," Pucey suggested, leaning into the back of his seat and examining the cuffs of his outfit. "Many people didn't, after all."

"That isn't the case at all," Harry said to Pucey. "I believe it's a modern classic."

"Is that so?" he smirked. "Tell me, what did you like best about the novel?" It was obvious that he was actually rather indifferent to Harry's opinion, and only really hoped that Harry would somehow embarrass himself.

"Lord Henry Wotton's conversations with Dorian," Harry said after a brief moment. "After each one, I felt strangely – alive."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Draco looked at Harry. "Dorian felt the same after those conversations; yet they're what inevitably led him to his loss of innocence and, unavoidably, death."

Harry nodded, holding Draco's gaze with acknowledgement, and was moments from responding when he was purposely interrupted.

"Well," Urquhart abruptly stood from his seat, "I've spent the last few days traveling endlessly in order to arrive here and, frankly, I'm exhausted. If you'll excuse me…"

"Wait," Pucey also stood. "Allow me to retire with you."

Urquhart nodded to him. They said they would join Draco – not Harry – at dinner later that night before quitting the room. Draco, sitting calmly in his seat, openly stared across at Harry, who fidgeted under the gaze.

"Unfortunately," Draco said, breaking the silence, "Pucey and Urquhart are very difficult men. I suppose I also should have mentioned that when I invited you."

"It would have been a fair warning," Harry agreed. "Do you know why, by any chance, they're acting so impolitely?"

"It can be any number of things," Draco shrugged slightly. "That you're the Self-Made Man; the fact that they don't trust men they don't know; perhaps it's even because you're ignorant."

"Pardon?" Harry snapped his gaze back to Draco's, clearly insulted.

"Excuse me – I didn't mean any offense by it," Draco drawled, obviously not meaning it. "I assumed that your ignorance was your reason for coming."

Harry flushed and averted his stare. "It is," he admitted.

"You see, the homosexual world – it truly is like a secret society, Mr. Potter. As a new member to this society, you'll have to earn the trust and respect of the other members. You're merely in a more difficult position, I suppose – after all, ignorant men rarely win the respect of others."

Perhaps Draco had made a point; but honestly, that didn't excuse Pucey and Urquhart's rude behavior.

Draco smoothly stood from his seat and walked across the room. "You haven't been taken to your chambers yet, I suppose."

"No," Harry hesitated, looking over his shoulder to watch Draco stop in the doorway.

"Come on, then," he said impatiently. As Harry began to follow him, he continued to speak to Harry and suggested that he would, inevitably, gain more knowledge – perhaps then, he would be able to earn the other's respect. "Honestly, I personally feel that you oughtn't to be too vexed; after all, you already have my high esteem."

"Do I?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. "You've yet to show it."

"Of course I have; I've invited you into my home, haven't I?" Draco asked as they turned down the corridor. "Publicly – well, admittedly, that's an entirely different situation. It would be far too mortifying to admit that publicly."

Ignoring the implied insult, Harry walked along beside Draco until they arrived at a room with a closed door. It was unlocked, and Draco stepped aside to allow Harry inside first.

There were great aesthetics situated around the room: several Japanese paintings and scrolls, vases with elaborate European designs holding speckled orchids, and floral patterns among the furniture and wallpaper. There was a bookcase, too, filled with both the ancient and modern classics.

He quickly found his baggage propped against his bed. He was about to pick it up and rest it on the sheets when he suddenly realized that Draco hadn't come in. He turned to find Draco leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, as he watched Harry; when their gazes met, Draco quickly looked away and stood straighter, as though uncomfortable.

Harry suddenly felt rather awkward in that moment; and he tried to cover this by turning and opening his luggage on his bed. Draco was far too clever for this apparently, however, for he cleared his throat and said, "I didn't mean to make you nervous."

Harry didn't say anything, and only turned slightly to look as Draco stepped closer.

"It's simply that I'd had a thought," Draco continued. "I realized that it would be responsible of me to explain that – well – Pucey and Urquhart aren't only here for the discussions."

At that, Harry forced himself to turn and fully face Draco. "I know that – suspected it when you first invited me, in fact. I feel you ought to know that I don't plan to participate in anything other than the discussions. I would much rather prefer to learn more before I become too… involved."

Draco nodded in understanding, but it seemed that he couldn't think of anything else to say. The awkward silence was prolonged before he finally stepped back to the door. "Dinner will be in several hours. I hope you plan on joining us, despite Pucey and Urquhart's behavior."

"I'm sure I will," Harry said quickly. At that, Draco smiled and somehow took it as a signal that he ought to leave – which, perhaps, was partly true. After he left and closed the door behind him, Harry returned to placing his suits from his baggage and into the closet; and as he worked, he meditated.

Indeed, he'd learned a good deal of the homosexual world, and was sure to learn even more – but he couldn't help but wonder if he would be able to handle Pucey, Urquhart, and Draco. After all, he was far too proud to be treated so coarsely by two complete strangers; and Draco – well, he knew he would hate witnessing Draco give his attentions to such offensive men. Draco had claimed that they were merely acquaintances – yet they were most likely worth more to Draco than Harry ever would be. Already, he could feel the beginnings of pangs of envy.

Later that night, the courses of food at dinner were almost too expensive and exquisite for Harry's tastes; yet for Draco, Pucey, and Urquhart, they seemed entirely comfortable with the choices. They were content as they ate; Harry, on the other hand, could barely force a few bites of each plate.

"Are you not hungry, Mr. Potter?" Urquhart asked, silently criticizing Harry's barely touched food.

"Not so much, no," he admitted apologetically.

"Are you feeling well?" Draco asked as he sipped from his glass of white wine.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Thank goodness," Pucey muttered sarcastically. "I don't believe I could handle having an ill accompanying person – doubly so when the man happens to be Mr. Potter himself."

To Harry, this statement made little to no sense; yet Urquhart regarded it with an agreeing sneer. Draco glanced at Harry but said nothing as he continued to sip his wine.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry turned to Pucey. "I don't quite understand your point."

Pucey and Urquhart exchanged smug looks that sort of rattled Harry's nerves. Pucey looked back at him, still rather arrogant, as he explained, "I really only meant that having an ill person in my presence would be rather depressing. If it happens to be you, Mr. Potter, then that would make the circumstances even more depressing – seeing that having you in my presence already makes me feel rather miserable."

"Goodness, sir, I think that's quite enough," Draco abruptly said, placing his glass on the table, before Harry, taken aback and insulted, could reply himself.

"Hardly," Pucey said shortly before turning back to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I didn't immediately tell you the truth for sake of the fine manners of polite introduction; but I feel it would be a sin to hold in the truth any longer: I personally feel that you are the boldest, most audacious man this society has ever seen."

Urquhart's sneer matched Pucey's. Draco, on the other hand, looked insulted and said, "In case you haven't noticed, sir, Mr. Potter is as much as my guest as you are."

"Why _have_ you invited him?" Urquhart abruptly demanded. "For the love of God, Draco, the man is a fool – he's not even ever been with another man!"

"There are no requirements to be here – " Draco began to defend Harry; but apparently, this last comment was simply too much for Harry's tastes. For a moment, Urquhart's eyes widened as he pulled back slightly – and almost seemed comically relieved when he saw that Harry had stood only to leave the table and not to attack him. (Though, indeed, the anger emanating from Harry's person made it an understandable mistake.)

Draco shot both men looks of utter disgust before he too quitted the room, quickly following the other man.

"Mr. Potter!" Draco called after Harry as he stormed down the corridor. "Please – Harry, you didn't need to leave just because of their rudeness."

"Of course not," Harry muttered sarcastically, turning back to Draco. "Instead, I should have sat and listened to insult after insult, being entirely outnumbered and unable to defend myself from traditionalists for fear of being seen as just as rude – "

"Stop being so ridiculous – I have no patience for such dramatic affairs in my own home."

"Mr. Malfoy, I think it would be best if I _did _leave," Harry continued, as though he'd never been interrupted – and by this, it was clear that he didn't merely mean the dining table.

"Absolutely not," Draco said firmly, obviously affronted. "When I invited you here, it was with the understanding that you would stay for at least three days."

Harry sighed impatiently. "In that case, I would prefer to remain in my chambers until then."

"Excuse me for saying it, Mr. Potter, but that sounds _entirely _immature and spectacularly theatrical. You'll stay out of your room unless it's for rest – _do not _interrupt me now, Mr. Potter, I'm hardly in the mood for such. As your host, I demand at least this for both of our satisfactions. Now, then," he paused, adjusting the front of his suit, "if you'll follow me."

"I refuse to return – "

"No, we're not returning to the dining room. We'll have another conversation in the sitting room."

Harry looked annoyed and impatient, but he followed Draco nonetheless. Once they reached the empty room, they sat down opposite one another in the same seats they'd earlier occupied – and with the absence of Pucey and Urquhart's presence, Harry realized that he felt much more at ease.

"They think I'm a fool just because I've never had sex with another man," he said with a tone of bitterness, though he'd calmed immensely. "What truly annoys me, however, is that they have a point. I'm an adult, and only recently I've learned my sexuality; it'll probably take even longer before I feel comfortable enough to become involved with another man, even secretly. Perhaps I am a fool."

"You're certainly a fool, yes," Draco whole-heartedly agreed, "but not for those reasons. You're naïve, ignorant… innocent, really. Those qualities don't make you a fool. If anything, really, I think it makes you – endearing."

"Endearing?" Harry almost laughed and met Draco's gaze.

"Yes – endearing," Draco smirked in turn. "Not many have such qualities, after all – especially homosexual men, I believe. It's interesting, witnessing such a quality in you of all men."

"That's quite the compliment," Harry replied with a tone of irony. When Draco didn't respond, he continued, "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy – what's the best part of this homosexual secret society?"

He didn't take a very long time to think of an appropriate reply. "The men, Mr. Potter – I would have to say the men. They ensure that I'll always be understood – physically, especially."

"And emotionally?"

"They understand that I don't desire feminine emotional baggage."

"Are you implying, Mr. Malfoy, that only women are emotional?"

"Not at all. I'm merely implying that, in all of my interactions, physical necessities have constantly overridden emotional wishes."

"You do desire it, though – an emotional relationship."

"I never said that either," Draco smirked. "With emotional relationships comes unnecessary stress. Jealousy, expectations, commitment – responsibility…"

"Yet a sense of satisfaction accompanies."

"A sense of satisfaction that has a large probability of coming to a rather painful end, I say. After all, Mr. Potter, emotions enhance everything in this world – including grief at loss."

"You're too cynical for my tastes, Mr. Malfoy. Before even entering such a relationship, you've assumed that it'll come to an end!"

"Don't they all?" Draco looked at Harry frankly.

He hesitated for a brief moment before murmuring, "I can't imagine so. At least, they have to last longer than relationships based only on physical desires…"

"You wouldn't know, though," Draco said bluntly. "Would you? You know next to nothing about your own physical desires, let alone another man's."

Harry frowned and he looked away. He glanced up in curiosity, however, as Draco stood from his seat and went to one of his many bookcases situated around the room. When he returned, he was holding an aged book that he extended to Harry. He took it, uncertain, as he held Draco's look.

"Read this," he simply said, "but understand that it's very dear to me. It's what I considered life-changing when I first read it; you might as well."

"What is it about?" Harry asked, opening it and leafing through it.

"It's an enlightening, extensively profound story on homosexuality that you ought to appreciate."

"If it's enlightening, then I won't be ignorant and you won't find me very endearing anymore," Harry grinned lightheartedly.

"No – probably not," Draco smirked as he took his seat once more. "But on the other hand, you'll probably want personal awareness more than my high esteem."

1: The Club of Gentlemen is very loosely based on the Gentleman's Club.

2: The American Court debate refers to the American Plessey vs. Ferguson's trial of "separate but equal."

3: "My dear fellow, you forget that we're in the native land of the hypocrite," is a line said by Dorian Gray in Oscar Wilde's _The Picture of Dorian Gray._

4: Urquhart and Pucey are referring to the first homosexual secret society, the Order of Chaeronea, founded in 1897 by George Cecil Ives.

5: In 1895, Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for two years at several different prisons. During his conviction and trials, _The Picture of Dorian Gray _was used as evidence against him for its implications of homosexual relationships and numerous references to Greek Love.

AN: I hope you all enjoyed this bit – and I would love any constructive criticism if you didn't. Truthfully, I was a little self-conscious by having to use Pucey and Urquhart. They're _very _minor Slytherins in the books, and I dislike using minor characters in a fanfiction… but, well, I decided that they were necessary for various reasons. If you didn't like them very much, though, don't worry – I doubt I'll be using them again.


	10. The Appealing Lives

**Chapter Ten: The Appealing Lives **

Harry had begun reading the book on homosexuality the very night Draco loaned it to him, though it was initially only out of shy curiosity that he'd turned to the first page. Over the following days, however, he was so drawn that he could not rest it down.

The book was really an imitated journal of sorts, starting with simple descriptions of the narrator's "curiously homosexual" life. The journal was not for the specific defense of homosexuality, for Ulrichs had already completed several volumes dedicated to such a topic. (1) Instead, the narrator declared that, by writing about his life, he wished to make homosexual men realize that they lived the most appealing lives of humanity – more appealing that the luxurious, powerful, and privileged, even – because of their sexuality.

Homosexuals should be honored that they were part of such a privileged world – a world that Greek Gods, Roman Emperors, and Japanese Shoguns were traditionally a part of. The narrator insisted that homosexuality was an ancient art found in nature, starting from the very first days of human existence – an antique sport men shared. Once, the persona even daringly claimed that heterosexuals declared homosexuality a mental illness because they were subconsciously enraged that they were left out of this sport – enraged than their preferences had duties such as marriage, penalties such as unwanted children, and little happiness. They shunned homosexuality, for they feared the heavy influence it had on society in the past – feared that it would hold a heavy influence once again in the future.

As Harry read on, it became more and more evident why he'd never discovered the book before: it was obviously censured in England, and perhaps many other European countries. It had to be so – for several times, the book was completely socially inappropriate. For example, the narrator often went into embarrassingly graphic details of proof that homosexuals lived appealing lives. He described his longing for historical figures such as Francesco Boneri for his particular figure in the painting _Amor Vincit Omnia_. (2) A good page and a half was dedicated to his desires of _Il Moro_, featured in numerous popular photographs. (3)

Because of the cleverly chosen words and profound descriptions, Harry couldn't help but feel that he was persuaded into sharing these wants and desires. It was an addictive feeling, something that was not completely foreign to him – yet something that he had never felt quite so intensely. He began to see all men in a new light: the way they spoke, walked, gestured, stood; their features such as the clothes they wore and their countenance… it all began to matter greatly, much more than it ever had for Harry. Sighting an attractive man seemed to go further as he imagined the graphic scenes presented in the book. Harry was mortified to find that even _Ron_ didn't escape this new state – and if he felt this towards Ron, then Draco Malfoy was unquestionably included in his new revelation as well. With this awakening of sorts, he felt ashamed and embarrassed – and, initially, he funneled this uneasiness into anger towards Draco.

Harry felt that Draco meant to confuse him or, perhaps, meant to have a laugh at Harry's awkwardness. (After all, the man _had _to know that the book would make Harry feel uncomfortable.) By the time he reached the final chapters, he came to the ridiculous theory that Draco truly meant to upset the little comfort Harry had with his nature, for the narrator began to insist that, in order to rightly live an appealing homosexual life, the reader – Harry, that is – needed to be act on his feelings.

"I only meant for you to learn more about desire," Draco said, indifferent towards Harry's distress, "and to spark your curiosity."

"I wish you hadn't taken it upon yourself," Harry muttered as he extended the book to Draco. He couldn't quite look the man in the eye.

Draco grasped the book carefully, as though afraid that the binding would come apart. "I take it, then, that you didn't enjoy it?"

"It had several insightful moments," Harry admitted. "It was just rather… _uncomfortable_ at times."

"I suppose this means you weren't convinced that your nature is appealing." When Harry didn't respond, Draco nearly sighed in exasperation. "I'm starting to believe, Mr. Potter, that you simply don't_ ever _want to participate in the world of homosexuality."

"Oh?" Harry's tone became stiff. "How is that, sir?"

"This," Draco gestured to the book he held in his hands, "is a book of masterful persuasion. It's the very book that convinced me and many other men to appreciate our kind – to become _involved_, as you would say. How is it, then, that this book has managed to make you _uncomfortable _rather than_ passionate_?"

Harry frowned. "Was that the result you were hoping for when you handed this to me? You were hoping for me to be _eager_?"

At this, Draco was clearly impatient. "No, not _eager _necessarily – but interested, at the very least."

"Perhaps I'm simply not as inclined," Harry said smoothly as he looked away from Draco. He was embarrassed with the thought of admitting that he had indeed gained this new so-called interest.

"Or perhaps you're simply too stubborn," Draco said, annoyed. "You insist on remaining innocent – _ignorant_."

"It's a difficult change," Harry's tone rose in frustration. "I've been taught that homosexuality is a _crime_ – "

"As have all other homosexual men of this society. As have _I_. Why is it then, Mr. Potter, that you and I have two opposing views? That I relish in my sexuality and you – well, fear it?"

"I'm not afraid," Harry said firmly. "I – plan on eventually taking part, once I feel more comfortable."

"Yet you're such an impulsive and brash man," Draco drawled sarcastically. "I would think that you need only those qualities to start."

"You act as though you wished for me to arrive perfectly willing," Harry answered, almost angrily.

Draco stood suddenly, turning to place the book on one of the shelves; and as it slipped back into its unnoticeable position – an old book shadowed by volumes of classic and current literature – Draco stated, clearly incensed, "Perhaps it would be best, then, if you left."

Harry, clearly taken aback, looked at him as he turned again.

"Until you're _eager _and _willing_," Draco added mockingly, "I don't believe I wish to see you. Really, I once said it was endearing – but being with such a reserved man now is beginning to be an entirely irritating affair, especially as I've attempted to help you."

It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was, indeed, rather serious. "Absolutely not," he said, somewhat affronted. "You can't merely decide to throw me out, Mr. Malfoy, I simply refuse to leave."

"You were never so bothersome!" Draco glared.

"Sir, you enjoy picking out my so-called flaws, but you ignore your own," Harry continued.

"That's simply because I have little flaws to pick," Draco said haughtily.

"Really," Harry was on the edge of derisive laughter. "Ever since you've learned my secret, you've been fixed between your time-honored allies and my friendship – "

"You can't honestly expect me to accept you in the presence of others."

"Don't interrupt me, sir, I wasn't quite finished. Further, you offer no explanation for your annoying pressures – as though it's my _duty _as a homosexual to be eager and willing. Frankly, you haven't helped me at all – that blasted book has made me more uncomfortable with the entire subject and with all men, including you."

At this, Draco took an air of practically pleasant surprise as he reclined into the back of his sofa. "Are you admitting to me, then, that the book _did _affect you?"

"Well," Harry pursed his lips almost sullenly. He wasn't quite ready to admit such a thing, and felt like a guilty child. He continued defensively, "Well, I couldn't help that it did, could I?"

"Why act as though this is a grim fact?" A small smile actually flitted across Draco's face. "It's something to be proud of, in fact – to be pleased with."

"It's not a grim fact so much," Harry mumbled, though his gaze was downcast.

"This at least means now that you're to ready for the next step, then."

"I believe you've misunderstood my interest for readiness, Mr. Malfoy."

At this, Draco smirked as he said, "Believe me, Mr. Potter, within at least the month, I guarantee that you'll be quite keen."

**

* * *

**

Once leaving Malfoy Mansion, it became clearer and clearer to Harry that he and Draco had a very… _complex_ relationship of sorts. Draco had shared rare smiles and enlightening conversations with Harry; indeed, they were men who had made a habit of discussing topics many would often consider reserved for only the most intimate of relationships. At the very least, Harry thought, they were friendly acquaintances.

Still, they were friendly really only when they were alone. After Harry left the manor, Draco made it quite clear that, publicly, they were still rivaling adversaries – even after Harry confronted him for such actions. From Draco's everlasting sarcastic comments, derisive tone, and bored expressions, it was obvious that he did not or could not think of Harry as a particularly close friend; for it was, perhaps, his duty as a traditionalist to treat Harry atrociously. If the pair ever came across each other in a dinner party, club, or at a ball, Draco would barely look at him – and if he was ever forced to say something, it was a harshly cold and mocking statement.

Harry wasn't certain whether Draco was acting for the sake of safety or if he honestly felt that way towards Harry whenever they weren't alone. After all, as he'd learned in Cambridge, there were several studies proving the fact that men tended to act and think differently when surrounded by various groups of people. It was a possibility that, whenever Draco was in the company of his friends and allies, he shared their feelings towards Harry. Perhaps Draco was somehow reminded that the man was a peasant and the most-hated Self-Made Man amongst traditionalists. Yet, sometimes, Harry would find Draco waiting outside – ready to insist that they meet again. It was confusing, to say the least.

Nevertheless, it was undeniable that Harry could not avoid Draco. It was not merely because Draco insisted on their meeting again, but because he became part of Harry's every thought. Initially, Harry believed that his frequent thoughts of Draco were unexpected; however, he eventually realized that such a thing should have been predictable. After all, Draco was the one man he had confided in about his developing sexuality, the one man who had guided him to self-knowledge. Perhaps such attractions were entirely natural.

"Personally, I feel that you and Mr. Malfoy have a connection," Hermione said in her sitting room. Since she was rearranging the positions of lilies in a porcelain vase, she could not see the bewildered alarm that spread across Harry's face. "To me, it seems that you're almost doubles, or – or shadows of sorts, as a Jungian would say. (4) No offense, Harry, but I see both of you as similar in certain aspects: in stubbornness, for example, and the uncanny ability to find yourselves in angry situations. Perhaps you hate each other for that very reason," she turned with a teasing smile.

"If that's the case, then I could possibly learn more of myself from him," Harry said with a relieved grin, knowing that Hermione was oblivious to the amount of truth in the statement.

"Possibly – but Harry, in all seriousness, I hope that you're doing your best to avoid the man. To seek conflict now would be foolish."

"I'm content with this bout of peace," Harry said awkwardly. Under Hermione's sharp gaze, he shifted in his seat, as though afraid that she would somehow see that he had not avoided Draco – that he had sought the man's guidance. He felt that he would be disgraced if his friends learned the truth, and though he felt guilty for deceiving them, he did not want them to know. It was hard, keeping such an important influence a secret; but he knew that they wouldn't be able to understand.

* * *

"It's as I've said many times before, isn't it? Love isn't necessary," Draco insisted in an argumentative tone. "Only men of Romanticism would believe such a thing. I've rarely ever felt _love_ for the men I have relations with. Lust, on the other hand…"

Harry shook his head. "Physical attraction simply isn't enough," he said firmly. "Lust alone can't make homosexuality appealing. It needs to be balanced by substance – by emotional connection and fulfillment."

Draco sneered as he sat back in his seat. "Does that mean, then, that you and I would never have anything more than a platonic relationship?"

Harry had difficulty figuring whether Draco's question was sarcastic or not; but in the end, he naturally assumed that Draco meant little seriousness, given the nature of the question. He answered, then, rather jokingly, "There's always a chance, I suppose, of a platonic relationship evolving. Really, though, can you honestly expect for such a thing to happen between us when our relationship is as complex as it is?"

"It's not that complex," Draco said dismissively.

"Of course it is. We're both close friends and worst enemies, in case you haven't noticed. We can't be involved privately and enemies publicly – that would simply be too much, you understand. I believe you would have to openly accept our friendship. Friends publicly, involved privately – that's much easier to grasp."

"Well, as a friend – that could easily be arranged," Draco smirked, "as long as you're willing to return the sentiment. I believe that, once I've accepted you in front of open company, you ought to overcome your own embarrassment and accept me in front of your friends."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt; he hadn't realized Draco noticed his shame at their friendship. Nevertheless, he ignored this, smirked, and shook his head as he added to their mock-serious discussion. "They might as well already know, I suppose."

Of course, Harry had only thought this to be an ironic conversation and hadn't thought of it by the end of the night; by the end of the week, it was as though the conversation had never existed. Over the following days, he received letters from Draco inviting him to his home – perhaps for more entertaining conversations, or merely to relax together in each other's company. Harry, however, had recently discovered that he'd been spending more time with Draco Malfoy than with his own best friends, and decided to instead be with them at the Granger Mansion or in the Weasley House in London.

By the end of the month, Draco's letters had piled so high that Harry finally decided to answer, agreeing to come for dinner the following evening. He expected that it would only be the two of them, so he most certainly didn't dress in his best suit; he hadn't bothered to comb his wild hair as well as he could have either. He brought along an interesting book that he wanted to share with the man, and figured that, during the pleasant, comfortable evening, they could discuss it in detail.

When he arrived, Draco opened the door and eyed him.

"Did you just fall out of bed, Mr. Potter?"

"Good evening to you too, Mr. Malfoy," Harry smiled as he handed the man a book.

"What's this?"

"I thought you might enjoy it."

Draco nodded in acknowledgement, but he wasn't looking at the book; his gaze was still fixed on Harry. "Come, at the very least, let's fix you hair."

Harry was confused as Draco pulled him inside, closing the door behind him, and ran his hands through Harry's hair, attempting to comb it back. "That'll never work."

"Unfortunately, it seems you're right."

"Why is my appearance so important?" Harry asked impatiently as Draco continued to struggle with his stubborn hair.

"I should have explained in the letter that there are other guests."

"Men like Pucey and Urquhart?" Harry asked, clearly more concerned with the guests than him being presentable.

"No, not really," Draco sighed vaguely as he gave up on the hair. "They – well, you'll see in a moment, won't you? Come, they're waiting."

Harry was filled with curiosity as they walked down the familiar halls. He wondered who the guests were and why Draco had invited them. Draco would not say anything of them, claiming that Harry might act unreasonably if he knew beforehand.

When he entered the dining room, the charming smile Harry had readied immediately faltered as all of the heads of the table turned to him.

"Mr. Potter," Draco entered behind him. "You, of course, already know Mr. Zabini, Ms. Parkinson, Ms. Bulstrode, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, and Mr. Nott."

The most surreal feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed him – as though he had already pictured the scene before him in an awful nightmare. Harry was speechless. He couldn't even bring himself to nod his head politely. By the looks of utter shock, it was apparent that he was the least expected man to enter the room. In the thick silence, they looked from Harry to Draco; and Harry turned to Draco, expecting for the man to clarify why, exactly, Harry was surrounded by his worst enemies of society. Despite their mutual unpleasant daze, all of Draco Malfoy's guests came to the same conclusion: Harry was there to become a victim of sheer humiliation.

Harry tried to catch Draco's gaze as he was seated beside Pansy Parkinson – tried to silently demand an explanation – but the man would not look at him. He either ignored or did not notice the multiple icy gazes sent at Harry; but Harry was most certainly all too aware of the waves of hatred being sent to him.

Harry decided that it was, indeed, a nightmare he'd had before. He sensed that they had overcome their astonishment and were beginning to group against him. He felt their impatience as they all waited for the most opportune moment to individually attack the man who had threatened to ruin them – the man who had defeated them. He couldn't concentrate on building an appropriate defense; he still couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. Worst of all was the fact that Harry expected Draco to conform to his orthodoxy once again, abandoning Harry – watching his humiliation snidely. A small part of him felt as though he had returned to the past – a past where they did not confide in each other and instead attempted to destroy each other. This left him feeling surprisingly weak.

Once the appetizers were set, Millicent turned to Draco and asked loudly, "If you don't mind me asking, Draco, could you possibly explain why that man is here?"

"If by man you mean Mr. Potter, then certainly: I invited him."

Victor and Gregory exchanged looks as Pansy asked, "Why would you do something as dreadful as letting him into your house and into our presence?"

Draco frowned. "Personally, I'm honored that he's decided to come."

Blaise took this to be a sarcastic comment and laughed; the others, just on cue, quickly joined him. Harry looked at Draco almost desperately, feeling an overwhelming heat of embarrassment, but Draco still would not look at him.

"This isn't a laughing matter," Draco said quite seriously. At this, the laughter died slowly.

"I invited him because I believe he deserves to witness, well…" He hesitated and, finally, turned his uncertain gaze to Harry. "I respect and admire this man. We've had many conversations in the past months, making us much closer than any of you could have possibly realized. This was to remain private, but lately, I've come to recognize that my familiarity with Mr. Potter certainly isn't something to be ashamed of."

"I don't understand," Pansy said with a strained smile. "Is this some sort of trick, Draco?"

"Not at all," he said earnestly. "To say it simply, Mr. Potter and I have a new alliance of sorts – an alliance that I hope all of you will come to respect."

At this, Blaise abruptly stood, pushing the chair back roughly. "Draco – a word if I may."

Draco, too, stood; and as the two deserted the table, Harry clenched his fists tightly and stared at his untouched plate, feeling the angry stares burn into him. Yet he was not concentrating on the others' outraged and appalled feelings, for he was still stuck on his own bewilderment. It was simply too unreal; it made no sense that Draco would ever reveal their friendship. There was no valid or appropriate reason for his actions.

After long, agonizing minutes passed, Harry strongly wanted to leave for the comfort and safety of his home, but he knew that leaving then would be cowardly; and he didn't want to leave Draco alone after he'd done such a thing. As voices angrily rose, he looked towards the open doorway and into the hallway. Within moments, Blaise furiously swept back in and returned to his seat. Draco, who closely followed, sat again in the seat beside Harry. Harry watched him closely, seeing mostly irritation but also feeling a hidden, bruised manner.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, why is it that you've decided to ally with Mr. Malfoy?" Blaise asked snappishly. "Have you finally realized that the life of peasant simply isn't as appealing as the life of an elite gentleman?"

"No," Harry frowned, glancing away from Draco. "I'm sure that I'll always prefer the common man, thank you."

"I suppose you're hoping to find information so that you can blackmail us again, then?" Millicent asked nastily.

"Of course, if you give me a cause for doing such a thing," Harry answered sarcastically.

"Mr. Potter," Pansy glowered, "perhaps you're too impulsive to realize that you're outweighed here, and that you ought to choose your words far more carefully."

"Is there reason to believe that I'm in danger?" Harry asked mockingly.

"There's reason to believe that you have some sort of influence over Mr. Malfoy," Blaise said warily. "Perhaps you've returned to your devious, blackmailing ways."

"I'm sorry that you can't accept a simple acquaintance, free of such suspicions."

"Mr. Potter, I would never be able to accept such a strange and peculiar alliance. You can be sure that I'll find how and why Mr. Malfoy has agreed to such an affair – I promise this to you."

Absolutely exasperated and not to mention emotionally exhausted, Harry suddenly pushed away from the table. "If you'll excuse me – I think I've had enough of this for the night."

He had barely quit the room when he heard Draco's calls. He was tempted to ignore the man, but knew that he didn't deserve such rudeness. He slowed to a halt and allowed the man to join him in the dark hall.

"How could you leave?" Draco asked, clearly annoyed, as he faced Harry.

"Why would you do something like that?" Harry demanded, ignoring Draco's question.

"Don't act ignorant, not now."

"I suppose you planned this, then – to make me feel completely isolated – "

"I suppose it doesn't quite matter that I isolated myself from my main allies in the process," Draco muttered.

"_Why did you_?" Harry asked again, much more firmly this time.

Draco hesitated for a moment before he asked, "You honestly have forgotten, then? We made a deal, Mr. Potter, that if we publicly accepted each other, our relationship would develop into more."

In that moment, Harry looked at Draco with a ridiculous expression of mixed anger, disbelief, and alarm. "You must be… By God, Draco, I was being _sarcastic_. _You _were being sarcastic."

"I most certainly wasn't being sarcastic," Draco's eyes narrowed as he calmly folded his arms. "You made it quite clear that you wanted substance as well as physical attraction, and I figured that publicly accepting you in front of them would be sufficient for our relationship."

Harry flushed. "We don't _have _the type relationship you imagine, Mr. Malfoy, except for that of a – a mentor and a student of sorts."

"You can't deny that there's mutual attraction," Draco muttered with a tone of frustration. "Ever since we spoke of our preferences – "

"Even if there is, it means nothing," Harry said firmly. "I've told you, I'm simply not ready! I can't believe you're being so damned _persistent_, and that you would go to such lengths – "

"It'll inevitably happen," Draco interrupted, almost coldly. "It's irritating that you insist on prolonging this."

Harry grinned incredulously. "I believe you're far too expectant."

"I'm not overly expectant for insisting that you complete your side of the bargain, am I?"

He shook his head and turned away from Draco. "As I said before, I was being sarcastic. You're a fool for not realizing that."

"As you're a fool for not realizing that I was quite serious," Draco stepped forward. "Why do you think, then, that I've been helping you with your homosexuality all along? It certainly wasn't out of pity, Mr. Potter, or simple kindness."

"You're just doing this to torture me."

"Not at all," Draco murmured. "I'm doing this because I've made a habit of acting as a homosexual man should." He hesitated for a moment before sighing and continuing, "There's something between you and I. There's no point in denying it, Mr. Potter; you must have realized it by now, else you truly are a fool. There's a connection that goes far beyond attraction, something that keeps pulling us together, whether it's as rivals, friends, or as a mentor and his student." At that, Harry remembered Hermione's opinion – that they were each other's double – and sighed, turning back to face him. "Perhaps it's the beginnings of emotional development you always speak of," Draco continued, "or – or maybe it's just the fact that we've been rivals for so long… but either way, it exists."

"A connection may exist," Harry interrupted, "but that's little reason for us to – well, complicate our relationship further."

"For me, Mr. Potter, you're just _different _from other men like Pucey and Urquhart. You're curious, brash, and have undoubtedly offered me far more interesting days than other men ever have – much more interesting than _they _ever have," Draco said, referring to the other guests they had left in the dining room. "At the risk of sounding arrogant, I have to say that I know I've influenced your life in a similar way. Why, then, should we pretend to be ignorant? It would be irresponsible of you to insist that we remain ever the same."

"I never – insisted that…" he frowned and hesitated, unable to look at Draco, before he said quietly, "I don't want to speak of this now."

"Then let's not speak now. Just promise me that you'll fulfill your side of the deal. This has gone beyond a childish joke, even if it did start as that."

* * *

Harry had never been so nervous. His hands were cold, his chest hurt, and it felt as though something quite large was moving in his stomach. Draco had mercifully agreed that he did not have to be present to be accepted in front of Hermione, Ron, and Ginny – that it would be enough if Harry simply told them. However, Harry was starting to wonder now if he should have, perhaps, asked Draco to come after all. He would probably say something cold and sarcastic that would make Harry feel more angry than nervous, and would undoubtedly offer support if he saw that Harry needed it.

He wasn't there, though, and Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were patiently waiting on the sofa for the important news he had invited them to hear. Harry wondered how quickly their expectant, friendly gazes would turn to incredulity and disgust.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Ginny asked worriedly. "You seem pale."

He nodded as he swallowed thickly. "I – invited you all here today to speak to you of something important," he stared at the edge of Hermione's lavender dress.

"Why the formalities?" Ron laughed. "It really can't be that serious, can it?"

Hermione shushed him as Harry glanced up apprehensively. "It – is rather serious, actually. I… well, I've found another man, you understand, and – "

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful," Ginny beamed as Ron took on a rather pale expression himself.

Hermione, too, smiled as she asked, "Do we know who he is by any chance?"

Harry nodded, turning away from them slightly, and mumbling something incomprehensible.

"Sorry, Harry, I didn't catch that."

"Yes – you do know him," he repeated more loudly. "He and I have – well, become rather close lately. I mean to say, he's helped me understand myself much more, and he's recently decided that he isn't satisfied with friendship – "

"By God, Harry, you don't have to go into the details," Ron interrupted suddenly, clearly embarrassed. "Just say who it is."

"That's just it," Harry said quietly. "I'm not sure you'll appreciate who it is – no, in fact I know that you won't accept him… But I want you to understand that he's helped me, he truly has, and that there's another side to him that you would never expect to exist…"

He could see the realization slowly dawning on Hermione's face. She stood, suddenly, and shook her head slowly. "No, Harry, please don't say – "

"What is it?" Ron asked, plainly confused.

"Hermione, listen to me," Harry said, "he's a better man than he's let on, and we've confided in each other – "

"_What is it_?" Ron repeated firmly.

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, still shaking her head. "I can't believe you would trust _Draco Malfoy _again, Harry, after _everything _he's done to you!"

"_Him_?" Ron looked at Harry is disgust. "You can't be serious – "

"Just because he's homosexual, Harry, doesn't mean that you should trust him. I'm sure that there are plenty of others, if only you would look a little harder – "

"You don't understand," Harry said firmly. "I trust him because he's helped me feel more comfortable with myself. He's taught me about my nature. He's even openly accepted me as a friend, and he asked me to do the same. I'm not asking for your support – just your understanding and tolerance."

In the silence that followed, Harry impatiently waited for a response. Finally, Hermione sighed and said, "I'm understanding of your preferences… but I'm sorry, Harry; I simply can't tolerate Draco Malfoy."

Ron quickly gave his assent, and even Ginny quietly apologized. It hurt Harry that they asked him not to trust Draco Malfoy; asked him to never mention their developing relationship again. He saw that he couldn't force them to accept Draco, and understood their concern given that they had yet to see the man as anything other than an antagonist… Yet he couldn't bring himself to describe their reactions to Draco. He told the man that he'd done as they agreed and left it at that.

1: Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, a pioneer of the gay movement, wrote very important essays collected as _Researches on the Riddle of Male-Male Love. _In these essays, he defended homosexuality.

2: Francesco Boneri, a model for many of Michelangelo's paintings such as _Amor Vincit Omnia_, has often represented many homoerotic ideals in some of Michelangelo's best works.

3: _Il Moro _refers to Pancrazio Buciuni, younger lover and model of famous photographer Wilhelm von Gloeden.

4: Jungian or analytical psychology concentrates on an individual's self-knowledge as that individual learns of him or herself through archetypes found in nature, dreams, or other people. For example, if someone finds that he or she does not like another person's qualities, it's a possibility that the person does not like those same qualities found within.

AN: Thanks for all of the support and feedback in the reviews. I love knowing what you guys think. It was pretty hard for me to write, because I was trying to be as vague as possible when it came to Harry and his – er – developing feelings (have to remember that this is a T rating, here)… but not to the point where you guys would have no idea what was going on, you know? I hope it wasn't too confusing.

Anyway, I hope you all liked this chapter and look forward to the next.

Edit: I'm sorry, for some reason the original borders I'd put in didn't come up. Sorry for the confusion!


	11. The End of the Battle of Societies

**Chapter Eleven:** **The End of the Battle of Societies**

Honestly, it wasn't Draco's fault that Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were visiting the Potter Mansion at the time; yet Harry was still quite irritated that he had arrived unannounced – and rather arrogantly at that. Draco's coming was so unexpected that Harry didn't know what to do with him as he entered the mansion; and, as Draco casually made his way to the sitting room where the other three were waiting, Harry barely had enough time to warn the man of their presence. He thought that Draco would take that as a hint to leave – or, at the very least, to not enter the sitting room; however, Harry was very sorely surprised when the blonde, with a cold smirk, decided that he would like to see them.

It soon became clear that he didn't want to see them to be friendly. Instead of feigning politeness and greeting them humbly, Draco acted indifferently towards them. He ignored their presence and their appalled resentment as he strutted about the sitting room, as though to mock them by showing how familiar he was with the place. He made himself comfortable in their company, obviously enjoying their uneasiness.

Harry was painfully aware of the conflicting roles he would be expected to play while Draco, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were all in the same room: the Self-Made Man, friend of the common man, versus the homosexual, intimate friend of a traditionalist. Avoiding Hermione's judgmental gaze, he quickly pulled Draco to the side and away from the other uncomfortably tense guests.

"You shouldn't have come without notice," Harry said to the other, his frustration clear.

"Sir, I figured that we had an understanding: you call on me whenever you feel the need, just as I come by whenever I want to," Draco frowned, and not only because of Harry's attitude; but because he was also starting to realize that Harry was asking him to leave. "Can't I simply wait elsewhere until _they _leave?"

"_They'll_ be here for a while," Harry quickly thought of an excuse. "And besides, it'll be uncomfortable for them – knowing that you're here, you understand."

"Why does that matter?" Draco pursed his lips. "They can manage."

"Now here we _definitely _had an understanding: you would respect my friendship – "

"You mean in the same manner they _ought _to respect _our _relationship?"

Their voices were rising; Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were almost startled as they turned their attention to the pair. Exasperated, Harry said in a much lower tone, "I think it would be better if you just leave."

"I just spent several hours traveling here, sir, and you expect me to return only after five minutes?"

"Come back tomorrow," Harry insisted, glancing back at his three friends. Ron was still scowling; Hermione began to watch disapprovingly; and Ginny had turned her back to them again so that they could not witness her cold stare.

"Fine," Draco resignedly sighed. "Make certain that you're alone tomorrow, at the very least. We have a lot to discuss."

By the time Harry walked Draco to the mansion's doors and returned to the sitting room, the room had become dreadfully uncomfortable. It was obvious that the three had been talking and had quickly silenced themselves once Harry returned. Ginny sat stuffily on the sofa as Ron glowered out of the open balcony doors – probably glaring at Draco as he left the acreage. Hermione, smoothing out the lap of her dress, seemed to be thinking of how to word what she would say next. Finally, she broke the silence by saying, "I truly wish that you would severe ties with him."

"We've been through this before, Hermione; enough times, I think."

"Yet we obviously ought to discuss it again if the man is coming here, Harry – to your _home_," Ron scowled.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione interrupted before he could reply. "Why do you think Draco is so willing to be your friend now that he knows you're a homosexual?"

"Because he found that we have something in common," Harry said frugally.

"I think he's hoping to take advantage of you, if he hasn't already," Hermione said quietly.

"Hermione, Draco couldn't be _using _me if I benefit from our relationship as well."

"_Relationship_?" Ron jumped in. "Is that what you two have? A _relationship_?"

"An immature relationship, as far as I can see," Hermione muttered critically.

"If it's immature it's because we've barely started," Harry began defensively.

"I believe it's immature because it's based merely on physical attraction. How can it be anything other than undeveloped?"

"Yet it _isn't_ based merely on physical attraction. Of course, that's obviously an element – "

"_Really_, Harry, mustyou say such things?"

Frustrated, Harry said sharply, "Of course, seeing that you three won't understand unless I do." Seeing the soft surprise in Ginny's face, he stopped himself, taking a breath, and said more calmly, "We have intriguing discussions, and he tends to be entertaining; and while I'm not necessarily prepared to write a love sonnet to him, I certainly feel attached to him."

"And yet, months ago, what you felt for him was pure hatred. You were ready to _kill _him."

"Admittedly, remnants of that hatred tend to linger at times," Harry muttered sarcastically. "Nevertheless, I've grown in many ways. Draco has helped me to achieve that maturity. You may not tolerate it, but I wish you would _at least _understand it."

"An impossible task," Ron dismissed. "How can we, when the man used to be your enemy and remains ours?"

They all seemed unable to think of anything else to say; and within moments, it became apparent that Draco could have indeed stayed, for Hermione, Ron, and Ginny decided that it would be best to leave early for the night.

Annoyed, Harry spent the better part of the night thinking irritably about the three for their broken tolerance of his sexuality: the fact that they accepted his homosexuality but not his choice in lovers. Of course, he furiously realized, Draco Malfoy was the source of this frustration – and not only for coming unannounced that night, but for constantly insisting that Harry consider his own feelings more thoughtfully. Draco was rushing him, Harry thought; persisting that they develop immediately rather than let their relationship grow slowly and naturally. It was making him feel pressured and choked – making him feel aggravated.

This reflection haunted him well into the following day, but Harry hadn't realized that it was showing until Draco said, "Mr. Potter, there are very few times that I've ever received such a cruel gaze from you."

"Oh – I'm sorry," he replied, though he didn't sound very sorry at all. "I hadn't realized I was giving such an impression."

"I admit, sir: there were times that I deserved such a gaze; but I can't possibly imagine what I've done now." He paused for a moment before he began, "If this is because I arrived unannounced – "

Harry heaved a great sigh. "No, though I have to say – you caused quite a commotion."

"Did I?" Draco almost seemed quite pleased with this knowledge. When he saw Harry's frown, however, he hid his own smile and continued, "Well, I can assure you that I hadn't intended such a thing. I was only eager to speak with you. I've been thinking a lot lately, you understand, about my expectations for you and me."

"And what are those expectations, sir?"

"Satisfying my physical cravings, for one," he began his list haughtily, "as well as an end to traveling endless hours to meet with you."

"How is that supposed to work?"

"My satisfaction, you mean?"

"No, not at all," he smirked. "I was referring to the latter."

"Well, I believe I imagined you leaving your mansion to move into my home."

A laugh broke Harry's serious and exasperated demeanor and, though it was a possibility that Draco hadn't meant to be entirely witty, he didn't listen to Harry's mirth unsmilingly. In fact, after a moment it seemed that he too was growing amused.

"You know, Mr. Potter, I've always wanted to write a novel based on Fredrick the Great, but I never have before because I feared I wouldn't be able to portray Fredrick's relationships with his lovers accurately. The men were too intimate with each other, I thought, for me to feel comfortable with such a subject; and after all, how can I possibly write about something I've never felt myself?" He paused, a half-smile lingering on his lips. "However, I think now that I'll begin writing it soon."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. "Isn't that dangerous? Writing about homosexuality, I mean."

"Well, of course I won't be releasing it publicly," Draco smirked. "I'll write it for myself – and you as well, if you'd like a copy."

"I almost wish you would release it publicly," Harry murmured after a moment, his smile seeming to take a twinge of melancholy.

Draco raised his eyebrows as he sneered, "Mr. Potter, I didn't know that you still hold a grudge – or wanted to see me lose our little battle of societies."

"Oh, no, you misunderstand. I don't want to see you fall out of favor with society because of such a book," Harry quickly explained. "I merely meant that it would be good for – "

"I really must warn you: I refuse to stay here if you mention any word beginning with _self_."

"Yet it's true, isn't it? I believe you would gain a larger sense of self-worth and awareness by doing such a thing." He paused, an odd look spreading on his face, before saying boldly, "Really, the only reason you won't is because of cowardice."

"Is that so?" Draco muttered uninterestedly.

"I admit that, initially, I was afraid and embarrassed," he continued, as though he were never interrupted. "However, thanks to you, I've realized that homosexuality is simply another part of me. I told Hermione, Ron, and Ginny because they deserved to know about this side to me, and because I deserve to be true to myself."

"And look at their reactions," Draco smirked arrogantly. "_Awkward intolerance_. Harry, there's no doubt that you shouldn't fear your sexuality; but that doesn't mean you should flaunt it about."

"They're not intolerant of homosexuality; they're only intolerant of you," he replied bluntly. "Besides, I wasn't _flaunting _anything. Only those who are most important to me know."

"So, let me see if I understand you clearly... You want me to announce to my allies that I'm a homosexual?"

"The thought isn't too terrifying, is it?"

"No, not at all. It's simply absurd," Draco expressed his amusement. "Not only would I _fall out of favor with society_, as you would say, but I would be _murdered_."

"Oh, don't be so theatrical. The issue isn't so intense that someone would want to kill you." After a pause, he asked, "Doesn't it bother you at all that you're lying to everyone about your homosexuality? Well, everyone save for the men you have sex with, of course."

"Honestly, Mr. Potter, my _alliances_ with Mr. Zabini and the others aren't nearly as pleasant and open as your friendships with Ms. Granger and the two Weasleys... especially once I revealed our own friendship."

Harry couldn't help but wince a bit. "You don't regret doing so, do you?"

"Frankly, yes – I do," Draco admitted honestly. "They don't respect me nearly as much as they did before." Yet he added with a smile, "Then again, I'm certainly not disappointed in _our _outcome, so – well – I suppose it was worth it."

"Does that mean you'll reveal your homosexuality as well?"

"Of course not," he sneered. "Nothing can possibly be worth _that_."

Harry and Draco eventually came to the mutual understanding that both needed time away from each other. Their relationship didn't stray necessarily, but had come to a point when both needed time to concentrate on their individual needs. Instead of meeting as frequently as the two often did, they exchanged casual letters to keep each other updated.

Harry wrote to Draco, describing how he found himself exceedingly busy with the engine research company as there were several recent significant discoveries. Hermione, although she remained upset about Harry and Draco, was still determined to keep Harry alive in the social world. He had to attend numerous balls, dinner parties, and often found himself inside of the club.

Many times, he was faced with prying traditionalists who were determined to figure out why Harry and Draco were suddenly allies. Of course, Harry never let them get very far and easily evaded their questions with politely mocking replies. Surprisingly, the traditionalists were united with the commoners on this one interest (though the common masses did not investigate so fervently.) While they remained openly loyal to Harry, some listened to and spread rumors that assaulted the ears and lips of practically everyone in British society. Most were absolutely ridiculous – such as the rumor claiming that Harry and Draco had found that they were long lost brothers, like Algernon and Ernest (1). Some claimed that the pair was merely seeking more attention from society by cooperatively creating uproar. Others, in contrast, were closer to the truth – such as the one alleging that the two writers had merely found mutual respect for each other's literary talents. None, however, dared to even consider the chance that the two had gone far beyond the walls of social norms.

From Draco's letters, it seemed to Harry than the man was doing quite well. Initially, he spent most of his days alone as he avoided Blaise Zabini and the other allies. According to him, he was inspired by this isolation, for his creativity measured to greater heights as he began his novel based on the life of Fredrick the Great. It was a self-incriminating novel, he admitted – similarly to Oscar Wilde's _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. The only difference, in fact, was that Wilde had merely _implied _homosexuality through obscure allusions and references – to Greek love, for example. In Draco's novel, on the other hand, the man proudly used blunt language that didn't bother to get around the sexuality of the characters as they expressed their feelings and desires for each other.

After several weeks of writing, he abruptly decided that he was bored with Surrey and decided to leave in search of new muses. He sent letters to Harry from Preston, Edinburgh, Manchester, York, and Dundee, claiming that he was meeting with old friends that he hadn't had the pleasure of seeing in months and, in some cases, years.

In one particular letter, Draco admitted that his duties in Surrey as a traditionalist pitted against the Self-Made Man had taken too much of his schedule. It hadn't left him enough time to keep strong, close relationships with those who mattered to him. Some of these friends were, of course, men like Pucey and Urquhart – and honestly, Harry felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Draco staying in their homes for days and sometimes weeks. Still, he couldn't help but read these letters with a smile. It was intriguing for him to read about this carefree, relaxed side of Draco's; now, if only he could witness such a thing for himself.

In one remarkably curious letter, Draco confessed to Harry how he, for most of his travels, had been haunted by Harry's suggestion that he, Draco Malfoy, actually tell others about his homosexuality. According to Draco, he obviously wasn't about to do such an insane thing; however, he couldn't help but imagine telling everyone who cared to know. When he described this fancy to one of his more intimately homosexual friends, the man laughed at him bluntly, plainly, and rather mockingly; but instead of pulling Draco out of his reverie, this only made Draco want to announce himself all the more.

It was as though he'd suddenly become addicted to revealing truths, for he wanted everyone to know that he often met with Harry – and that they didn't have a simple friendship. He wanted everyone to know that they were far more intimate and confided in each other more than others could possibly dream. He could imagine them as the most unconventional pair of the century – and honestly enjoyed this vision. Being away from Harry, though only for a month at the most, sparked this epiphany.

Harry could only smirk to himself as he read the letters. To him, these words were merely a result of excess creativity Draco generated for his book. He'd become more sensitive and profound – and much more bold, Harry supposed, once he was faced with only a paper and a pen instead of Harry himself. He suspected that when Draco returned, he would be unable to even admit that he'd written such things.

When Draco finally returned to Surrey, Harry was confident that the man would be too embarrassed with his emotionally inspired words to meet with Harry for several weeks. He was very startled to find, then, that Draco had keenly arrived at his home unannounced once again, demeanor as sarcastic as ever.

The sight was almost surreal, for he hadn't expected the sorely missed cool eyes, pale hair, derisive sneer, and bored drawl. Similarly, he hadn't expected the torrent of feelings at the sight of the man. There was almost a sense of relief, as if he'd been holding his breath for a prolonged time and finally released it when Draco returned. He also felt as though a stressful, rigid tenseness had been lifted.

It became all too obvious that Harry had, indeed, missed Draco Malfoy – and not modestly, but rather in a way where he felt a bright enthusiasm return, though he hadn't noticed that it was missing in the first place. It was a foreign thought for Harry, frankly, for he hadn't realized that he'd become so emotionally tied to the man. It was as though his own feelings had ambushed him in those moments.

It came as a bit of a shock, but he managed to rest this aside as he greeted Draco amicably. "It's been too long, Mr. Malfoy," he grinned lightheartedly. As the doors closed behind them, he rested a pleasant hand on the side of Draco's arm, guiding him towards the sitting room.

"I hope you didn't suffer too badly during my absence," Draco said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. However, it took Harry only a moment to perceive a sense of earnestness surrounding Draco – as though, with his eyes alone, Draco was trying to silently confirm what he'd written in his letters.

"As you can see, I barely managed to survive," Harry answered dryly, though he felt uncomfortably aware of the tension between them.

"Is that so?" the blonde paused and exchanged a look with the other. "Well, if you missed me so terribly, then why haven't I received a more proper welcome? I believe I deserve a kiss, at the very least."

It was moments like those when it was truly impossible for Harry to recognize whether Draco was being sarcastic or not. He hesitated for but a moment, unsure of how to answer such a statement without coming off as too embarrassed or inexperienced. Apparently, his hesitation went on for too long a moment, for Draco continued impatiently, "Surely you're sophisticated enough to do something as simple as even that." Ignoring Harry's murmur or protest, he continued, "If not, then you obviously don't expect for this relationship to reach a physical level of any sort. Goodness, you may as well be an asexual man rather than a homosexual one."

Harry, obviously agitated by Draco's comment, muttered, "Just because I'm not willing to kiss _you _doesn't mean I'm not attracted to _anyone_."

"Are you saying, then, that you're not attracted to me?"

Harry, obviously unwilling to lie, faltered before saying hurriedly, "No – that is to say yes, I'm attracted to you."

"Then?" Draco smirked almost pleasantly, leaning forward and obviously expecting Harry to close the distance.

Honestly, Draco only wanted proof that Harry was open enough to make such a mark of affection. Though it was chaste and hasty, it was a sign that Harry had, at the very least, accepted that there was a physical element to their relationship. While Draco was becoming familiar with his emotional attachment, Harry was becoming familiar with his own physical attraction.

The annual picnic took place on a particularly bright day – so bright that many walked about with squinted eyes. However, despite the sun's strength, the chilly breeze pulled everyone out from beneath the shade of trees and umbrellas in want of the sun's rays. Because the breeze brought nippiness from the water, many avoided the side of the lake – even though it was one of the more popular spots for its scenic view.

The picnic started with an overall pleasant sense among the crowds. There was, of course, an obvious division between the higher classes and the lower classes; however, it seemed that everyone mutually tolerated and approved of this division. In fact, it was only when this division was threatened that there seemed to be a sense of tension between the classes.

It was practically scandalous, really, that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy appeared at the annual picnic together. When the pair was sighted, groups of appalled, rich and stuffy women stood together, glowering over their shoulders at the two men as they made their way down the lawn. Older men Harry recognized from the Club of Gentleman would stop speaking in mid-sentence, their cigars hanging out of their mouths flimsily. Even children playing with their mother's frilly, expensive umbrellas paused, stared, and pointed.

Those of the lower classes looked as though they weren't sure how to react when they saw Harry and Draco together. Many who first saw Harry were excited, only to be disappointed and – at times – even afraid when they saw who he was with. Wives whispered to each other, trying to make sense of the sight. Some men pretended to be indifferent and ignored what they saw, though most sneaked looks at every opportune moment.

Mostly everyone ignored and even avoided the two – something that they, quite honestly, had expected and preferred. Despite the mass crowds, they anticipated that the day would truly be an opportunity for them to spend time alone at a place that was neither the Malfoy Manor nor Potter Mansion. Settling beneath a large and cast off tree, they noted to each other that they knew most of the people at the picnic, but didn't think that any would greet them while the two were together. Perhaps they would be confronted if – say – Harry were to take a walk alone; but then again, neither wanted to test that premise.

This was why, quite understandably, Harry and Draco were very surprised to see Neville Longbottom and Colin Creevey making their way towards the tree. It seemed that Harry hadn't seen either Neville or Colin since the Blackmailing Ploy months ago, and stood to greet both of them warmly.

"How have you been?" he asked, shaking their hands amiably. "It's been so long."

"_Too _long, I prefer to think," Neville grinned. "I've heard everything about you but have seen nothing of you." He paused, his smile fading, as his gaze turned to Draco. "And I see that everything I've heard is true, then."

"Oh, I'm sure not _everything _is true," Draco smirked.

"That's actually why I've come over," Colin interjected excitedly. "As you can imagine, practically everyone in British society is most interested in learning about this strange and rather unexpected outcome. I thought it would be fascinating to write an article about both of you, featuring an exclusive interview."

"Oh, Colin," Harry frowned, glancing at Draco worriedly. "I don't know if that would be the best idea – "

"What're you saying, Mr. Potter?" Draco interrupted. "Of course it's an absolutely brilliant idea. It would dispel most of the horrid rumors plaguing the ears of humanity."

Harry – stunned – stared at Draco in astonishment, as though searching for the man's reasoning. Finally, he caught his voice as he faltered, "Ah – well, I don't know about _that_, Mr. Malfoy. Don't you think it would be – _better _– to wait a while?"

"No, not at all," Draco sneered. "Mr. Creevey, is it? Take note of exactly what I say: Mr. Potter and I have formed a friendship because we're nonconformists seeking conformity in each other. We're not _seeking attention_; and for God's sake, we're certainly not _long lost brothers_."

Colin, who had been scrambling for the dip pen, ink, and paper he always had with him, finally was able to take notes on what Draco said. "Don't both of you have conflicting roles? After all, you belong to two completely different societies – "

"As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Creevey, this battle of societies has come to an end. I only have one role now." He looked at Harry then, his face devoid of sarcasm and holding only earnestness. "I may still carry many of my values, but for the most part I don't consider myself the foremost enemy of the Self Made Man any longer."

Colin had stopped scribbling notes in order to gaze at Draco in astonishment. Neville, too, seemed surprised – as though it was the last thing he expected to hear. Harry apprehensively anticipated seeing a twinge of suspicion in at least one of their expressions; however, he was relieved to see that they were too busy taking in what they heard to be suspicious – or create theories on the men's sexualities.

Harry had made a mistake in warning Draco that Hermione, Ron, and Ginny would be arriving within hours. If he hadn't said anything, then Draco would have left at noon, as planned. However, when he heard that the three were coming, he suddenly decided that he would prefer to spend more quality time with Harry – decided that he would prefer to stay in the house for a few extra hours. Harry couldn't say anything to make Draco leave that time. They both knew the real reason why he wanted to stay, but Draco mockingly insisted that it was only because he would miss Harry too much to leave his side.

When Hermione, Ron, and Ginny _did _arrive, Harry at least prevailed in persuading Draco to wait in the sitting room rather than escort him to the front doors. It would be too much for his friends, Harry thought, if they opened the doors and found Draco Malfoy on the other side. As he led them to the sitting room, Harry nervously warned the three that there was someone else visiting; however, he was also careful not to reveal that it was Draco, for he was certain that they would leave if they knew he was there.

Indeed, when Ron saw that Draco was sitting there, he immediately turned and went back down the hall, silently refusing to enter the room. When Harry couldn't persuade him to come back, he had to ask Hermione to convince Ron to return.

"Good day to you, ladies – gentleman," Draco said in a way that seemed mockingly polite. "I hope you're all doing well."

Ron, ignoring Draco, turned to Harry and muttered, "Can you explain to me why we're in the same room together – _again_?"

"I wanted to stay," Draco answered for Harry. "I wanted to speak with all of you, if you don't mind."

"Here's the thing," Ron said snappishly. "I don't think any of us quite want anything to do with you."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he leaned back into his seat. "I'm sure Harry would agree with me when I say that I'm part of his life now. If I'm part of Harry's life and – if you're Harry's friend and interested in his life – then I believe you ought to be interested in me as well."

"Is that so?"

"Mr. Malfoy, I would appreciate it if you were straightforward," Hermione said stiffly. "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't have much desire to be around you any longer than necessary."

"I already know what I want to say in this conversation. Why don't you start by saying what's on _your _mind, Ms. Granger?"

Frowning, she looked from the composed Draco to the apprehensive Harry. She didn't hesitate a moment longer in saying, "Well, frankly Mr. Malfoy, I simply don't respect you. I think that you're a man who is eager to take advantage of my friend and honestly wants nothing more."

"That's a particularly insulting thing for you to say for me," he said after a pause. "I don't think you understand how much I care for Harry – or why.

"At one point in time, Ms. Granger, I admit that I would have simply used Harry out of pure physical attraction. Now, however, I've found that I'm much more emotionally attached, something that I admit I've never quite felt before. You can give Harry credit for that. I've changed and become mature because of him. I'm far too grateful to simply _take advantage _of him now. I hope you can come to understand that. I know that you'll never tolerate me as a person, and I'm not asking you to. But – for Harry's sake – I'm asking you to, at the very least, tolerate _our _relationship.

"You act as though you're afraid that I will hurt him; but, for some reason, you haven't realized that you are, in actuality, the ones hurting Harry now."

Harry wouldn't look at any of them; instead, he rested his hand on the side of Draco's arm genially. The subsequent silence was intense and prolonged until Draco had enough of it and stood. He told Harry that he would leave, but was sure that he wound return to visit Harry in the following week. Before he could make it to the door, however, Hermione called after him.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said abruptly. "Maybe – sometime we can meet together again and – and have a nice conversation."

He was expressionless for a moment before he smirked and nodded in agreement. "That's a fine idea, Ms. Granger. Thank you."

1: Algernon and Ernest find that they are long lost brothers by the end of Oscar Wilde's _The Importance of Being Earnest._

AN: Well, well, well... So many things have happened in this chapter, though most of them were psychological: Harry and Draco's changes, for example, and Hermione's last minute shot at trying to accept Draco. This is a sign that the story is coming to an end! Hope you're all not too disappointed. XD

Of course, thank you all _so _much for the support. Your positive reviews have really given me energy to keep going. I'm really sorry about the three alerts for the last chapter. There was a problem with the borders, and I had to resubmit the chapter a few times. I'm very sorry if it annoyed any of you. But, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! (Hopefully there will only be one alert. XD)


	12. The Scandal

**Chapter Twelve: The Scandal**

"Well, this certainly isn't as horrible as I expected it to be," Harry said sincerely as he peered at the article. "Mr. Creevey really painted a wonderful portrait of both of us, didn't he?"

Draco grunted from his desk, leaning over paper as he scrawled briskly with his pen. "What do you expect?" he asked offhandedly. "He certainly wasn't going to write a damaging article on the Self Made Man, was he?"

"No, I suppose not," Harry murmured as he put the article down and stood from his seat restlessly. Draco had invited Harry for tea – and, Harry had hoped, a good conversation. However, after the tray and drained cups were put away, Harry felt that he was also put aside as Draco became absorbed in his writing. If he said anything at all to Harry, it was rather curt and brief, encouraging him to stay silent rather than start an insightful and profound discussion.

Harry made his way to the wooden bookcases, deciding that the shelves of books would serve as splendid entertainment – or at the very least distract him from his restless boredom. His eyes immediately went to one book in particular, and with an incredulous hum, he pulled out the bound book and flipped it open. "I don't remember the last time I saw this."

Draco glanced up reluctantly before looking back at his work. "Yes, funny isn't it – how the man I referred to in that book hasn't changed at all from the man standing before me."

"Oh, now that couldn't be farther from the truth," Harry said matter-of-factly as he slipped The Self-Made Horse back onto the shelf. "I believe I've changed quite a bit."

"Well, yes, when you consider the fact that you've had an epiphany of sorts," Draco muttered dryly.

"Precisely that," Harry smirked as he turned away from Draco, letting his eyes scan over the titles of the bound volumes. He hardly let a moment of silence pass before he added musingly, "It's a bit strange, isn't it, that we're lovers and yet we treat each other as though we're still rivals?"

"Surely you didn't expect a sentimental romance," sighed Draco sarcastically in return. "Now, honestly, your talkative mood is starting to prove rather tiring. Go sit over there, where you can't distract me from my work."

"I can't talk, I can't roam the room – tell me, Mr. Malfoy, why _am _I here?" Harry asked with a defiant tone, though he did return to his seat grudgingly.

"You're here – for inspiration," Draco said wryly, his eyes fastened to the paper before him once again.

Glowering silently, Harry was determined to ignore Draco – then hopefully, the man would realize how demeaning it felt. As he shifted and fidgeted in his seat, however, his gaze accidentally landed on Draco's bent profile more than once. After the third time this happened, he couldn't help but recognize that Draco had never quite seemed so passionately entranced while writing – certainly never when Harry saw him writing letters, or when taking notes in the margins of classic books.

The pen paused, hesitating over the paper; Draco's eyes moved back and scanned over the words he'd written. He muttered something noiselessly to himself before the pen scratched away at the paper once more. Beside him were several encyclopedias and history texts; no doubt, any page mentioning Fredrick the Great was folded, saved so that Draco could refer to it when necessary. He seemed so composed, and yet he was clearly captivated.

Yet even the deepest spellbound fascination would be broken by the heavy stare Harry had unwittingly fastened onto him. Draco automatically looked up and, when their gazes met, Harry quickly fixed his eyes elsewhere, as though he hadn't been watching Draco at all. Oh, he was so clearly embarrassed. A quaint, childish blush spread through his cheeks, neck, and ears, and he seemed all the more uncomfortable as he refused to share another look with Draco. He pretended he didn't notice that Draco was staring quite openly at him. Honestly, Draco found it amusing that Harry – a grown man – was blushing like a woman who was caught admiring an attractive man. He couldn't control the soft laugh – a laugh that Harry heard, of course.

"Apparently even from here I'm too much of a distraction," Harry muttered stonily, quickly silencing Draco and forcing his attention back to the papers.

That's how they stayed for a good few moments: Harry glowering to himself, still red with embarrassment, and Draco attempting to concentrate on his work – for now, it seemed he simply could not return to the same devotion he had before. His once serene expression was marked with the slightest frown, and his eyes glazed over for a few moments, as though he were lost in thought.

"Harry," Draco eventually murmured, placing the pen down gently.

"Yes?" Harry asked, having gathered himself for the most part.

"Do you think you would ever leave England – move away to another country?"

It seemed like such a bizarre question that Harry couldn't help but look up curiously. "Why do you ask?"

Draco took a moment to respond before he turned in his chair, away from his work, and stared at Harry bluntly. "Quite honestly, I ask because I've been thinking about leaving England… permanently." He registered the open shock that spread across Harry's face, but didn't pause to give Harry a chance to respond. "Traveling the country – well, it really impacted me more than I've let on, I suppose. Being away from Surrey and London has made me realize what I truly – well, want out of life.

"Consequently, I want to live in France – and I want you to come with me."

He stopped then, waiting anxiously for Harry to say something even though two seconds had barely passed – and Harry, of course, needed more time than two seconds to think over this life-changing proposal. Frankly, he was still stuck on the thought of Draco leaving England permanently, and wasn't quite sure how to respond to that – and as for the offer, well, it hadn't even fully registered what Draco was actually asking him.

When the silence was a bit much for Draco, he added hesitantly, "It would be pleasant, I think, living in France. We wouldn't have to waste our time traveling to visit each other, since we would be living together. I've a manor there, you know – several, actually, but there's one in particular that I think would do rather nicely." Still, Harry said nothing. "The sights there are – magnificent, really; and the people are more accepting than stuffy Englishmen ever will be."

"How long have you been planning this?" Harry finally managed to ask.

Draco shrugged – he hadn't thought it really mattered. "I thought of it while I was traveling, and I suppose I officially decided I would once I returned here."

Harry was shaking his head – couldn't quite look Draco in the eye. "This is so sudden."

"You yourself are impulsive enough to be able to handle the suddenness, I think. Now – will you be joining me or not?"

"No, I – my entire life is here in England. You can't ask me to throw everything away – my friends, my work, my _home_."

"You wouldn't be throwing anything away," Draco insisted, standing up from the desk. "England isn't going anywhere – you can visit anytime you like."

"I've far too many responsibilities here," Harry frowned. "And don't you? You have too many things here to just leave behind – "

Draco laughed dryly. "Clubs, dinner parties, balls… I have petty, shallow, and insignificant things here, Harry."

"What about your allies – your reputation?"

"My _reputation_?" Draco repeated incredulously. "Why would you worry about my reputation?"

Thinking of what Hermione had once warned, Harry cautioned, "Scandalous rumors might fill your absence."

"Those rumors are likely to all be true," he smirked, leaning against the desk with crossed arms. His smirk slowly faded, however, as he eventually said, "I suppose you mean to say that you won't come, then."

In the thick silence that enveloped them, Harry struggled to think of something to say; but for that moment, he was silenced by the bitter realization that England and France were not only separated by the sea, but by days of distance. Harry wouldn't be able to simply stop by Malfoy Manor, nor would he be able to wonder eagerly if Draco would appear at his front door at any minute. Honestly, their relationship had hardly developed into anything more than a raw blossom, and already it was to be plucked from the stem.

Draco, noticing Harry's disappointment, murmured, "Don't think that this is the end. I'll live in France, yes; but if you don't come with me, then that simply means I'll be making several trips between the two countries every month or so."

Harry forced a downtrodden smile. "When will you be leaving, then?"

"There's no point in waiting very long, is there?" Draco glanced at one of the encyclopedias on his desk. "I suppose the beginning of next month will do."

Harry looked away silently, unwilling to reveal exactly how he felt at that moment. When Draco saw that he was no longer in a speaking mood, he returned to his own seat slowly and pretended to return to his writing as well, though he was truly far too overcome by thoughts to write anything more.

"I trust you'll send me a copy of your novel – once you're in France," Harry was finally able to say quietly, breaking the tight silence.

"Of course," Draco answered just as quietly. "You've inspired my writing, haven't you? It's the least I could do."

Harry thought that the passionate letters between Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas were nothing in comparison to what was written between Draco and himself over the following months. He carefully hid the letters away in the back of his closet, behind the hefty cloaks along with the old letters that had been written when they were still foes; and every once in a while, he would find himself pulling the box of letters out and reading each of them – sometimes with a smirk at a particularly sarcastic and witty comment, but usually with an entirely miserable expression.

Harry knew that he would miss Draco: of course he would, seeing that they'd made a habit of visiting each other regularly, continuously finding something interesting to talk about and always ending the conversations with a fine dose of "physical satisfaction," as Draco called it. Now that Draco had left, Harry felt overwhelmed with idleness and, worst of all, loneliness. He spent many a day locked within his own memories of the times they were together – even the moments when they argued heatedly seemed like bliss compared to Draco's complete absence. The depression that began to pressure him noticeably weighed him down, to the point where he could hardly function as he usually did. At dinner parties and balls, Harry forced strained laughs amongst allies and friends; but now, it became clear to Harry what Draco had meant when he said he only had petty, shallow, and insignificant things left in Surrey. Everything Harry had struggled for and valued suddenly didn't seem as important as when Draco was there. Perhaps it was because Draco was the initial cause of the struggle; or maybe it was simply because Harry felt like a key part to him was missing.

What's more, Harry was left with impatient frustration whenever he contemplated over the remaining pieces of their relationship. It was as though he'd been reading an intense and suspenseful novel that was finally reaching the climax – only to realize that the ending's pages had been ripped clean from the binding. It was as Harry had confided to Hermione: "I'm plagued by the thought of what _might have _happened had I convinced him to stay – what _would have _happened had I taken the opportunity to leave."

Hermione, of course, comforted him; she reminded him that Draco had promised to come back to visit Surrey at least once every month or so – and she even praised that the pair remained emotionally attached, which was certainly impressive seeing that they hadn't been together for some time. Most relationships would have ended by then, for at least one of the two would have become bored with letters and would have moved on.

"Perhaps Draco had made the best choice in leaving for France," Hermione added from the long balcony doors. She seemed thoughtful in the bright light; she folded her hands, accented by the fashionable frills of her long slim, white sleeves. "Had he stayed here with you, I'm sure that your secret may have been eventually discovered… and, well, under the reign of our Queen Victoria, society's strict standards and ethics rule all. Neither of you would have survived the criticism sure to ensue."

And, had Harry left for France – well, people would inevitably begin to realize that the pair had taken the unacceptable step towards the taboo of homosexuality. Men living together automatically became suspects of the so-called horrid crime. If people learned that they left together, as they certainly would, the two would never have been able to return to England.

It felt like months had passed – months of letters, tiresome balls and dinner parties, and lonely afternoons in the Granger mansion – before Harry finally wrote Draco asking when he would be returning to England. He'd expected the man to follow through on his promise, and was actually starting to feel stirrings of annoyance that he'd stayed across seas for so long.

"You're being selfish," Draco replied in the next letter he sent. "I've only just arrived, and I need time to settle in. I'm really quite busy here, so I can't afford to visit you just yet. Don't worry, Mr. Potter: I assure you, I'll be back in hated Surrey before long."

Yet long had already passed, and Harry began receiving Draco's letters with less enthusiasm and more frustration. He'd been hoping that, one day, a letter would not arrive; instead, Draco would surprise him by standing before him. Though part of Harry told him that this was an unreasonable expectation, he could not help but be rather disappointed when, with each passing week or so, he got a piece of parchment rather than the man he preferred.

He was taken aback one morning, however, when the mail arrived at his door. It was a much larger than usual package from Draco, and after hauling it into the mansion and curiously tearing it open in his sitting room, he couldn't held but be pleasantly surprised at the thick novel wrapped within. Engraved was Draco's name and, in much larger letters, the title The Great King.

Pulling back the cover gently, not wanting to wear the stiff newness of the book, he grinned at the message: "Mr. Potter, hopefully now you can understand why I could not visit Surrey, for I was too busy finishing your book. I'm afraid that you might have somehow realized – even through your denseness – that I was occupied by this novel; however, I doubt that you did, for even up to the last letter you've continued to beg for my appearance. I truthfully promise that we'll see each other within the next few months – but please, make sure you have an intellectual opinion on this book prepared for that meeting. I'll be most disappointed if you have nothing to say on it."

He began reading it at once, of course; and, though Harry already knew the extent of sexuality in the story from Draco's conversations, he couldn't help but be surprised by the blatant language used. Draco had let go of all genteel manners and discreetness; instead, he impulsively told Fredrick the Great's biography, truthfully remaining loyal to the man's life story – and refusing to ignore his qualities that would be sure to insult and appall the public at large.

The description and imagery was beautiful and serene; the characters pulled Harry into the pages. Though it was a biography of sorts, Draco had managed to retreat from a tone that declared facts and instead used a tone that created a strip of scenes in Harry's mind. In addition, Harry felt like he was attached to it on a personal level – as though the story he read was also his own. He could relate to the characters as Fredrick had his own epiphany of sorts, and was familiar with the experiences Fredrick also went through. Goodness, he absolutely enjoyed it, something he hadn't honestly completely expected; after all, the last book Draco had written nearly destroyed Harry's life. This one, however, was The Self-Made Horse's opposite, for it touched on Harry's growth.

Confident that Hermione would appreciate it despite the book's vulgar disdain for society's polite manners, Harry decided to let his friend borrow it. The previous week, they'd already agreed that it was an excellent idea for her to read part of it in his presence so that they could share opinions, so on the day that Harry arrived at the Granger Mansion, he held the book that was thoroughly and protectively wrapped. He stepped out of the hansom; and on the path that led to the main doors, he waved at the figure that stood by the steps.

Hermione seemed to have a worried look as he came closer. "Harry," she said with a frown. "Oh goodness, put that book away – "

Harry gazed at her, bewildered. "What is it?"

"Come in," she said hesitantly, stepping aside for Harry to pass by. "Has anyone visited you recently?"

"Within the past week, you mean? No, no one has – "

"And have you been to any dinner parties or balls at all?"

"Hermione, what is this about?"

Hermione took the book from Harry's hands and held it as though it were a poisonous, deadly creature. "He released it, Harry – Mr. Longbottom has just come by to speak of it. He said he would be on his way to your mansion next, and would warn you if he got to you first – "

Harry, baffled, clearly didn't understand.

"Come upstairs. Ron and Ginny are waiting there."

"Hold on – what do you mean he released it?"

They were walking hurriedly through the halls, Hermione speaking over her shoulder as she led the way. "Draco released this book to the public about a week ago. Anyone seen with it will certainly be publicly rejected, no matter their initial status. Mr. Longbottom used the term "social anarchy" before, and I think it's very fitting – I'm sure Draco is quite pleased with himself for the utter chaos he left behind. Mr. Longbottom tells me that the upper classes aren't sure where to stand. Most are loyal to the Malfoy family, but many believe that Draco's actions are completely unacceptable – "

Questions were racing through Harry's mind without pause as he silently listened. It was still hard for him to believe that Draco would even release the book. Surely someone had stolen the manuscript and published it for the sake of humiliating him. Surely he could not do such a thing willingly – had he known what he would do to himself? When he got to the sitting room, Ron and Ginny stood from their seats.

"You can't be seen with this," Hermione said, holding the book up.

"You shouldn't reply to any of Draco's letters anymore either," Ron said firmly and aggressively, as though he'd been arguing with Ginny and Hermione over the issue beforehand. "If people see that you're still communicating – "

"Ron, Harry and Draco care about each other; they can't just cut themselves off from each other completely."

"Harry, you need to assure the others – Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Macmillan, and everyone else that learned of Draco's sexuality – that you understand they did not betray you. That was honestly Mr. Longbottom's greatest concern when he visited. He came by here first for advice on how to approach you," Hermione said, opening a drawer and pushing the book inside of it.

"What're you doing with that?" Harry asked, staring at his book with a frown – he was clearly having trouble digesting everything.

"Putting it away until we can get rid of it."

"I don't want to get rid of it," Harry's frown grew deeper.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all exchanged looks silently before Hermione said gently, "Harry, you have to understand – this is a dangerous book. There are rumors that there will soon be a warrant for Draco's arrest, ready for if he ever returns to the country. If anyone links you and him at all – "

"Which is why you can't write to him or receive letters from him anymore!" Ron interrupted.

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he weakly went to one of the sofas and sat, resting his face in his hands. "I just… can't believe it. Why would he do this?"

Ginny sat down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "He must've had a very good reason."

"He must've had it planned all along," Harry muttered, not pleased by the realization. "It makes sense – him suddenly moving to France. Bastard knew he was going to do this before he even left." What really made Harry upset, however, was the fact that Draco didn't say anything about it.

Hermione made arrangements for all of them to stay in the mansion overnight; and by the time Harry left, he promised to all of them that he would not keep Draco's book, that he would not write to Draco or receive any of his letters, and that he would not even mention the other man's name while around others. Of course, these were promises that all four of them knew Harry would most likely break.

For a time, it seemed that the scandal had actually replaced Harry's popularity – but of course it had. It had taken over every topic of interest. No one could escape the gossip: it was vastly written about in newspapers and talked about endlessly in the streets, which had practically exploded with this overwhelming news; and in the ballrooms, gentlemen and ladies eagerly spoke of how they'd known all along. There were disgusting signs here and there: the particular way he'd glanced at another gentleman, for example. He was compared to a beast several times, and murderers and rapists; Draco Malfoy, once respected, had become so tarnished that some refused to even allow his name to be mentioned in their presence.

What's more, people began to whisper to themselves that Draco Malfoy had actually fled Europe and escaped to North America. No one was very surprised, and claimed that he would be a fool not to. After all, to stay would mean receiving social scorn from both adversaries and former allies – and, at worst, conviction for gross indecencies. There would be no need for the prosecutor to search for men willing to admit that they'd been with Draco Malfoy; he would simply have to hold up the book and declare anything along the lines of, "For a book on homosexuality to be written in such extensive detail, obviously the author himself has to be a homosexual!" And finding a homosexual was like finding a crazed serial killer.

It was such a dramatic affair that it took Harry several days to understand the full of depth of the consequences, and much longer to realize _why _Draco would ever plan such a thing; for now, what had been a theory became fact in Harry's eyes. It was clear that he had planned everything: releasing the book, self-incriminating himself – and escaping to France. Eventually, it became obvious that this was a result of the conversations he'd had with Draco. He hadn't expected to have such an influence – had barely expected his opinions to be taken to heart. He didn't appreciate that his opinions ensured Draco would never be welcome in England again. He longed to talk to Draco, to be in his presence; wanted to know what it was like to live as an open homosexual.

AN: It's funny, I've had this planned out from practically the very beginning – and at least one of you guessed at it in the reviews. I hope it wasn't too terribly predictable, but I have a habit of writing stories where the characters influence one another to change. Draco, of course, influenced Harry by teaching him about homosexuality. Now, it's apparent that Draco was actually listening to Harry during those conversations.


	13. The Final Conversation

**The Self-Made Man**

Summary: It's 1895, and in the Victorian society Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde existed in, you never know who to trust. Harry/Draco slash, AU.

**Chapter Thirteen: The Final Conversation**

Ron had made it quite clear that he didn't want Harry to contact Draco in any way. He became so overprotective that he offered to send Harry's mail for him. He undoubtedly thought he was being clever and sneaky, but Harry knew that his best friend was reading the addresses on the letters to make sure that nothing was being sent to France.

Ron was proud of himself for what he considered to be slyness; unfortunately, he only considered the possibility of mail going out to France – not coming in. Harry had received such a letter on a calm evening that had been spent practicing the piano for the ears of Hermione, Ginny, and Ron. (Harry had actually become rather good at playing the piano over the past months.) Needless to say, the letter was a surprise – especially since he'd recently begun to accept the likelihood that he would never see nor hear from Draco Malfoy again.

In fact, it had been months since he'd last found himself in a once all-too-familiar foul and hopeless mood because of the man's absence. Harry concentrated on his work and friendships and alliances and took on new hobbies (such as playing the piano), only remembering that he ought to be stressed about Draco every once and a while. It wasn't that he didn't care for Draco anymore, but he'd finally begun to realize that obsessing over the man was unhealthily making him emotionally exhausted. Better to just slowly forget about him rather than think about _what could've been. _It was rather easy to forget about him too, partly because he was hearing less and less about Draco Malfoy at dinner parties and balls. People had eventually moved on to other scandals and, though he wasn't any less unpopular, news of the man had quieted down significantly. If anything, people would comment, "No one has seen him anywhere for months now: not Europe, not the Americas. It's as if he's simply disappeared."

Perhaps Draco Malfoy had, in fact, been patiently waiting for the hype to settle down. Maybe he'd been cautiously waiting for a safer moment before he sent an unexpected letter to Surrey. Even then, he didn't write that it was from Draco Malfoy; he merely wrote that it was from _'Monsieur.'_

"He wants me to visit him," Harry announced to the room after he read the letter: Hermione and Ginny listening intently, Ron moping that Draco had managed to contact Harry despite his greatest efforts.

"Hewants _you_ to visit_ him_? Shouldn't it be the other way around, after such a long time? It's the least he could do!" Ginny said, clearly wanting a reason to be indignant with the man. The others could sympathize.

"Well, it's as he explained in this letter, isn't it?" Harry frowned as he eyed it again. "It would be dangerous for him to set foot anywhere in the United Kingdom. He's only safe where he is now. He's given me detailed directions – said his manor is near a small town that's quite easy to find if anyone happens to be looking for it."

"Too bad you won't be looking for it, then," Ron muttered. "I mean, he must be mad if he honestly expects that – after all of these months – you'll just stop your life here in England to go on a wild hunt for him in an entirely different country."

When Harry didn't respond, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all looked at him in amazement. "You can't honestly be considering – " Hermione began before Harry interrupted her.

"I don't know why Draco wants to see me again after such a long time, but I know that I need to see him for closure. Besides," he smiled, "I heard much about France from Sirius and Remus. I wouldn't mind being there."

In the end, Hermione and Ginny reluctantly supported Harry, though Ron only continued to remind Harry how easily his reputation could be destroyed if he was caught with Draco Malfoy. Within a day, he planned and packed, Ginny promising to water his flowers and Hermione suggesting she would tell anyone who asked that Harry had left on a spontaneous vacation – which, actually, wasn't very far from the truth.

The journey took him over rough seas, through bustling cities of tourists where he would practice his poor French, into small colorful towns where the culture was rich, and into crowded carriages with his trunk pressed tightly against him through the foggy countryside, into the hills, and up sloping, abandoned roads. At one point, according to the directions, he had to leave the carriage and walk through wild meadows, dragging his trunk with him, as he followed a rocky stream, until he came across the small town. It was much drearier than any of the other places he'd visited, and the people didn't seem nearly as friendly. He'd planned to spend a night in an inn until he had enough strength to greet Draco, but the people seemed so unwelcoming that he decided to travel straight to the manor that overlooked the small parish.

Once he arrived he stared up at the mansion, surprised at its grandness and historical feel. The gothic architecture was intimidating yet beautiful at the same time. After such a long journey, one would think that he would merely gratefully rush up to the manor steps, knock on the large doors, and demand that Draco Malfoy – if he was even truly there – take him to a guestroom for a long sleep. Instead, he slowly made his way up the passage and to the dark, lonely, chilly stone steps. The brass handle was frozen to the touch as he knocked on the door, shivering from the icy wind wasn't the same, subtle breeze he was so used to.

It took a few moments, but the door eventually slowly groaned open, revealing the man Harry had come looking for.

"Harry Potter," Draco didn't bother to hide his shock. "This is – most unexpected."

"Well, you did invite me, didn't you?" Harry smirked. "You know, I traveled a long way to be entertained by you. I hope you don't plan on being as rude a host as I am."

Draco laughed – it was a carefree laugh and sounded pleasant, though it was foreign to Harry's ears. Harry didn't remember ever hearing Draco laugh like that. The blonde man stepped to the side, a smile still lingering, letting Harry into what he called his "humble home" – though, from the stone passageways and golden antiques lining the halls, Harry could tell that this was a _very _sarcastic statement. Taking Harry's trunk, Draco led Harry to a sitting room that had riches Harry imagined could only be found in a royal castle: displayed jewels, East Asian antiques, and gold frames around large portraits. One was of an older blonde man with strands of silver in his hair and a mean glint in his eyes; the other was of an older, regal woman with longer blonde hair and subtly arrogant smile.

They sat down together – at first with a sense of familiar ease, but eventually with growing tension and uncertainty. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other in months, and after such a long time of being isolated from each other's lives, couldn't think of anything to say. Whereas months ago they would've easily slipped into a discussion – literature, culture, people, their sexuality, anything – they were wrapped with uncomfortable silence for long moments. Finally, Draco broke it as he told Harry to rest for the remainder of the day; he would have dinner made and ready within hours. He took both Harry and his trunk to a guestroom and stored both away as though to hide from him.

By the time Harry woke, the sun had long time past set. Harry wandered out of the room, got lost a few times as he walked aimlessly down the stone halls (though he did enjoy the stroll through what felt like a museum of ancient aesthetics), but was finally able to find the dining room. Draco was patiently waiting with a French version of _Salome_ by Oscar Wilde. He put it down with a smile as Harry sat down beside him. Neither felt as tense as they did earlier.

"You seem much happier," Harry murmured with a small smile of his own.

"Yes, well," Draco's smile didn't falter, though his skin seemed to turn slightly pink. "You know, I can't help but be surprised that you decided to come at all," he reached onto the table and offered a plate of brown meat – it looked very much like quail. "I'm happy you came, of course; but, well, I thought you would be too..."

"Upset?" Harry suggested as he took some of the quail with a fork and knife and slid it onto his own plate. "Believe me, Draco, I was."

Draco's eyes turned downcast. "You understand why, though – why I couldn't stay in contact with you."

"Perhaps you thought it too dangerous," Harry said, obviously trying to mask his bitterness.

"And rightfully so," Draco said defensively. "Had I contacted you people would've begun to believe we had a relationship!" He offered a bowl of pasta.

"Which we did have," Harry answered rather coldly as he shook his head to the bowl. "Besides, I don't think you should've assumed that I didn't want people to come to that realization."

"You mean to say that you _wanted _people to find out about us, then?" Draco smirked incredulously.

"Well – no," Harry shrugged. "But it may've been for the best, rather than running away and abandoning me in Surrey."

"I didn't run away," Draco insisted, almost crossly. "Don't you see? I thought that, of all people, _you _at least would understand why I did all of this."

"Self-respect?" Harry smirked. "Is it worth it?"

"Certainly," Draco nodded. "Gets rather boring, at times – and lonely, when no one is around," he admitted. "But – well… yes, it's definitely worth it. I'm constantly visited by other men, you know, now that I've announced my sexuality. You ought to have come last month. Six different men were staying with me. Can't say their names, of course," he smirked. "But the point is, I didn't have to worry about keeping my life a secret. So people think I ran away, do they?"

"Exiled yourself, is what some prefer to say."

He took another sip of wine. "This isn't exile. Living in society – _that_, perhaps, is exile. You may not have been physically banished, but you find that you must banish yourself from your own desires. I've thought a lot, thanks to you," he said, looking up at Harry.

"Yet I hadn't expected – _this_," Harry murmured heavily.

Stiffly, "It's a bit odd that you're so disappointed in my decision."

"I am not," Harry hastily insisted. "Oh, don't be mistaken, Mr. Malfoy. I'm actually very proud. If anything, I'm disappointed that you left me out of your adventure."

"If I remember correctly, you decided not to come to France with me."

"I decided that with the understanding that we would, at least, be visiting each other once in a while."

"True," Draco frowned into his glass of wine. "I suppose I became rather selfish, then, as I became more of an individualist. Or perhaps I was too hurt and disappointed to confront you. Maybe a bit of both, even."

Harry couldn't help but laugh as he shook his head. "You've become much more aware of yourself, at least."

"I've had a lot of time to myself in France," he murmured. "And how're _you _coping, Mr. Potter?"

Harry flushed slightly. "I have to admit, Surrey just isn't quite the same anymore."

"I suppose you haven't found any other homosexuals. Do you need me to introduce you to a few men I know in the area?"

At this, Harry looked up incredulously. "A few – no, Mr. Malfoy, that's quite all right."

Draco peered across the table. "Why not? I'm sure they would be willing to kindly allow you to – er – _explore your nature_ with them."

"No, that's quite all right," Harry insisted. "It's just that I…"

"You're afraid," Draco sneered. "Pathetic."

"I'm not _afraid_. It's just that – well – I'm not really interested in other men. I probably won't be able to have the same conversations with them as I have with you."

Draco seemed stunned, and as he spoke a wide grin spread across his face. "Is that really it, then? You've privately decided to stay faithful to our relationship, even with me in France and you in England?"

"It's not something to mock," Harry mumbled, taking the opportune moment to pretend to take a sip of wine so that he wouldn't have to say anything else.

"No, of course not," Draco said, though as he said this it seemed that his grin turned into a sneer.

"I suppose this means you _haven't _stayed faithful, then?"

"Physically? No, of course not. If it's any consolation, however – " and here, he actually faltered a bit – "I suppose I stayed faithful... _emotionally_."

Harry held back a laugh. "France truly has changed you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, I suppose it has," he murmured. "I wonder if France has any change in mind for you as well?"

Harry felt all the more settled and comfortable as his days with Malfoy drew on. He found that the idea of leaving France so early seemed like a sin. He partly didn't want to return to England because he most certainly didn't look forward to the long journey, but he also knew he didn't want to leave because of the new environment and the many places to explore. He often left the manor and its dreary town to discover the cities and witness grandiosities like the Eiffel Tower.

The new sights and sensations made him feel more profound, and made him realize that the world was, indeed, a vast place with infinite opportunities and tales that did not narrow on his own life. He relaxed as he blended in with the French people, glad for once that he wasn't treated like a celebrity. Sometimes, he even managed to convince Draco to join him – which was never a mistake, as Draco's fluency in French always turned out to be essential.

"I could live here," Harry said one afternoon on a carriage ride back to the hills. He only said this because he'd realized what a mistake it had been to not accept Draco's original invitation to France. He was, indeed, hoping that the man would extend his invitation again. "I could live here in peace rather than grow to become an old, withered celebrity in England."

As the days passed, however, Harry sensed uneasiness whenever he was near Draco. The man seemed lost in thought more than ever, seemed to lose his pleasant smile, and whereas they'd opened up to each other more in the conversations and miniature adventures they shared, now he seemed to rarely talk at all. Harry feared that it was because Draco was tiring of his presence; thought that maybe he'd triggered this sullenness after implying that he wanted to live with Draco. It was quite possible that the tenseness was simply imagined – something that really only Harry felt.

One day, the tenseness had come to such a weighty heaviness in the silent sitting room that it pressured Harry into asking, "Are you upset?"

Draco looked away from _Salome_, which he seemed to be rereading for at least the fifth time. "Upset?"

"Yes – upset. You always have a frown of sorts – as though you're constantly brooding over something that's bothering you."

He hesitated and returned his gaze to Harry's, putting his book down. "I suppose I have been, yes, as I've been thinking about our future."

"Thinking about our future has upset you?" Harry winced a bit.

"I've found happiness here – happiness that I want to share with you for as long as you'll stay. Still, I can't help but be a little… _troubled_.

"I've done what you suggested, and yes – I feel satisfied that I've publicly accepted myself. However, I can't help but wonder if _the public _will ever accept _us_. After all, there was a time when you and I would be admired as honorable men performing our _duty _of sexuality for civilization; now, however, we're punished for it. Their hatred is growing. Perhaps their hatred will eventually grow to the point where they'll have us crucified."

"Don't be so ridiculous," Harry couldn't help but laugh. Was this really what had Draco so worried? "Only your pessimistic nature has brought you to such thoughts."

"I suppose you imagine a different world, then," Draco gazed at him.

"Yes: a world where homosexuality is as common and accepted as heterosexuality – and a world where it wouldn't be considered insult, or a sinful crime."

Draco shook his head. "Your optimism has made you naïve."

Harry suddenly found himself carefree as he shrugged, thinking about Draco's words: _for as long as you'll stay. _He smiled and said, "It is a much nicer future to imagine, though, isn't it?"

At this, Draco couldn't help but smile a bit; he looked away, seemingly lost in thought once again. "Yes. I suppose it is."

**Author's Final Notes**

I really want to thank everyone for their support and their patience – particularly with this last chapter. I've been terribly busy with work and getting ready for my first year of college, so it took longer than it should have for me to finish this. I definitely enjoyed writing this fanfiction, though. The Victorian era is one of my favorite eras to both read and write about. And, as you can probably tell just from the number of times I had a character mention him, Oscar Wilde is one of my favorite icons in history!

If you enjoyed this fanfiction, then I suggest other stories of the Victorian era with (arguably) gay themes, such as _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ and _The Secret Sharer._

The research for this fanfiction came from various trusted websites and novels from the Victorian era that I've read.

And... Well, I can't think of anything else to mention at this point – except that I hope you all enjoyed!

bloodsucking-llama


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